Three, Two, One, Zero
by DifferentIndifference
Summary: Three Men, Two Lovers, One Outcome, Zero Emotion.
1. Meeting Mr Finch

"_In the later years of the 36__th__ century, a fifth World War broke out. Those of us who survived knew that mankind could never survive; our own violent and aggressive natures could simply no longer be risked. So we created a new, better man: the Larrelles, who's task is it to seek out and exterminate the true source of man's inhumanity to man – his ability to feel." _- Harold Finch.

Harold Finch. A smallish man clad in a charcoal grey suit, thick black framed glasses resting on his nose, a frowning brow with a thin black cane clasped tightly in his right hand and on his fourth finger a large silver ring with Master carved into it. The cane was the latest edition to his attire – a neck and back injury rendered Harold in pain and with walking difficulties a few months previous. He stood on his balcony gazing over the dystopian world beneath him. His eyes carefully searched the streets and grey concrete block buildings below: the scene familiar to that of fascist Russian centuries before. He loved yet hated this world. The world was now peaceful – no conflicts. He was a rich man, the richest, although he was not in control of the world physically his money and wealth made him the most powerful man alive. No questions asked. He was free to do as he wished, as free as the State of Reconse let him. The cold, late winter air was painful on his joints; the cold seeped into the very core of them and made them ache. He walked back inside his penthouse, cane clinking on the stone floor. He despised the cane, it made him feel weak like he was unable to hold his own weight but the cane brought its own power. The civilians were scared of him, they bowed their heads in terror as he walked by the cane announcing his presence everywhere he went, he liked that. Power.

Today was an important day, A few years ago he heard of a military Larrelle: John Reese. A dangerous man who'd sacrificed all he could for his job, everything including his wife, one Jessica, executed for sense offence back in 3724. Harold was curious about a man such as Reese, he wanted a man such as Reese. Harold stood in front of his floor length mirror, straightened his tie, tugged his sleeves over his hands and left the penthouse. He rode the elevator down to the car park and walked over to his large Mercedes saloon. Even his car had a powerful presence about it. He climbed in and drove out into the winter weather. The State itself moved at a slow place but every step from every citizen was calculated and in time. Harold watched them through his tinted windows, the children dressed in white linen uniforms, the women in grey linen and the Larrelles in the black crisp suits. The colours of the state – minimal emotion. Harold had always found the Larrelles interesting – sacrificing everything for the chance to serve, protect and kill for the benefit of the state.

He pulled up the tall metal gates keeping TyRon from the citizens. A guard walked out.

'This area is off limits to citizens.' His voice uncharacteristically like a recorded message.

'I think you will find I am allowed.'

There were times where he didn't mind his injuries as much, the limited movement of his head and the sharp intake of breath from the guard told him that he didn't need to look at him. The guard knew who he was and feared it.

'Sorry sir, didn't recognise you.'

Harold continued to stare ahead as the guard opened the gates, he eased his saloon car forward slowly into the underground car park of TyRon. TyRon was the creator and Distributor of the drug that fuelled the great society. The drug that cancelled out all emotion rendering people uniform and monotonous. The perfect society where no one had disagreements and no one fought. This is where the citizens came to get their doses and the offenders came to die. Harold had received news that they had something he wanted. He parked in his bay next to the door and walked into the building. He walked up to reception and was greeted with a small, dead eyed smile from the young woman behind the desk.

'Good morning sir.'

'Morning.'

'How are you this morning?'

'The weather could better.' He said bluntly. 'You have something for me?'

'Of course.' The young woman stood up and bowed slightly. She walked out from behind the desk and led Harold down the vast concrete corridors, his cane echoing against the cold walls. They stopped at a metal door. The receptionist entered a code and the door slide open slowly, grinding on the rust that had begun forming on the hinges. They entered the room.

Inside, the room was roughly eight by eight, with half of it caged off. The room was dark and had a unnerving smell to it. Harold turned to the young woman beside him and gave her a cold look, she nodded and left the room, grinding the door closed.

Harold listened to the silence, only hearing his own short, pain breathes and someone else's breaths, much longer, much more mysterious.

'Had a feeling I'd be seeing you soon.' Came a voice from the darkness with a slight cheeky and light tone to it.

'It is proper for me to visit such a Larrelle as yourself Mr Reese.'

The figure spat at the mention of Larrelle. 'Come to gloat? Or do you want to see what happens when you cease the dose?'

'No. I have read your file and I am impressed. The highest rank military Larrelle turned sense offender, now on trial with an almost certain execution.' Harold paused. 'What a waste.'

The figure stepped up to the cage and Harold got his first glimpse of the man they feared; namely John Reese. 6.2 feet of tall, toned and tanned muscle. Harold let his eyes scan Reese: the black hair with silvering areas messily swept over to one side, numerous scars lining his chest and shoulders and prominent abs tucked into plain beige slacks with his large bare feet on the concrete floor. Harold took a step closer, he could feel John's breath on his face.

'I have a proposition for you.' Reese looked at him sceptically. 'I spare your life and you become my slave to do with as I please.'

'If I refuse?'

Harold shrugged his shoulders as best he could and started walked up and down the small room, clinking his cane on the floor with every step. 'You will die.'

'Not much of a choice is it?'

'Depends on how you see the world Mr Reese. Life or death.'

'Slavery isn't living.'

Harold stood below Reese again and took off his glasses, he stared Mr Reese in the eyes. 'Depends on how you see the world Mr Reese.' Harold replaced his glass and started walking towards the door.

Reese saw the living glimmer in his eyes, could it be that the Davarn, the great wealth behind the world was turning his back on the very thing that he had created? Could it be true that the great Harold Finch was living a lie?

'Wait.' Said Reese.

Harold took his hand off the door handle and turned around slowly.

'I want to go with you.'

Harold smiled thinly. Reese took a deep breath and fell to his knees, he sat back on his ankles with his thighs spread slightly and his muscular hands spread on his knees, with his head bowed obediently. Harold walked back over to the cage and ran his thumb over the scanner, opening the cage door. He stepped inside and stood over Reese's inferior body.

'Do you accept my proposition?'

'Yes sir.'

Harold smiled. 'Stand.' He said sharply.

John stood and Harold took a silver choker out of his coat pocket. He clipped it around Reese's neck and ran his thumb over the engraved letters: S – L – A – V – E.

'From this moment on, you belong to me and only me. You will do as I ask without hesitation. I will be placing many great secrets on your shoulders which you will not share with anyone – any sharing or grievous error will result in execution.'

'Yes sir.'

'One day, I might even remove this collar from you.'

Harold patted the silver chocker and turned back to the door with Reese at his heel. Harold took Reese out into the corridor and walked him back through the tunnels to the reception. Harold stood at reception and collected Reese's file.

Outside John opened the back passenger door of the Mercedes saloon. Harold stood and looked at him.

'I am fully capable of driving myself.'

'It's my job to serve you. I can also see the excoriating pain you are in. Let me drive.' Reese knew he was being bold but he wanted his please his new owner and make his life earlier – Reese had always served those higher than him, he always would.

Harold continued to look at Reese for a few moments more, sighed then eased himself into the back of his car. John closed the door and walked around the sweeping bonnet and sat in the driver's seat. He moved the chair back and realigned the rear view mirror, he caught Harold's eye.

'I will give you directions, drive carefully, I get car sick as a passenger.'

John nodded once and slowly drove out of the car park.


	2. The Real Mr Finch

As they drove through the grey streets, Harold found himself looking at the man in the driver's seat. Could he trust this battle hardened man with his secrets? Secrets that will mean death if they are found out? People had been close to finding out before, a previous slave wanted revenge and tried to blackmail Harold. Harold hated guns and hated conflict. That was the second person he'd killed with his own hand, and it was more harrowing than the first:

The slave in question, had taken photos of Harold's penthouse and written letters to the Larrelles telling them of his secrets. Harold knew any exposure would harm his reputation and wealth, but he might not be executed because of his money and reputation. As he sat at his mahogany desk and read through the latest letter and accompanying pictures, he opened the draw and took out a Glock 17 pistol. He'd arrived at his slave's personal quarters, the slave was washing up when Harold entered. He drew the gun up and fired some of the 9mm bullets into his chest. His lifeless body slumped against the wall, Harold looked him in the eye, he wasn't even sorry, just numb. The only thing he felt was the cooling blood splatter on his face. He'd shared his darkest secrets with the man who now laid dead before him and he'd betrayed him. Harold knew he'd have to be more careful next time. No killer would ever be found – he could buy his freedom.

Ever since that fateful night, Harold had been alone, watching the world from afar. After a few years he started watching people again. He could read people with ease – people watching was his favourite past time – people had always been interesting to him, everyone was different and unique. They all had their own stories and reasons. Telling the difference had got easier, those who took TyRon had dead eyes and those who didn't hid. Harold had a gift for seeing the honest truth in them, his made him very powerful indeed. From a distance, Harold himself looked ordinary, his injuries making him more so but close up people could see the genius behind the glasses, hear the crisp snap of the boots and cane on the ground and they feared it, making him the wolf in sheep's clothing. He could see that John had his own secrets and that he could also keep them. His eyes looked older than his face, a trauma of some sort no doubt. Harold looked down and opened the file on his lap, he skim read it hoping to find some answers.

'Not everything about me is in the file.'

Harold looked up to find John's piercing grey eyes boring into him through the mirror.

'I have put myself on the line making you my slave. I don't want to regret it.'

'What do you want to know?'

'At the minute, I'm not sure. It's left here.'

Reese turned left down another rod leading to the east of the State. They continued along the road in silence. The road snaked around into an underground car park.

'You can pull up here.'

He parked the car next to the elevator doors and opened the rear door for Harold. Harold struggled to swing his aching legs around. Some days the pain was almost unbearable, some days he'd even been bed ridden with pain and unable to do anything about it. He was a solitary human, the majority of citizens were like robots, existing to continue the existence of the human race. He wondered why he had created the drug, but then he remembered the conflicts that had torn the world open. So much death, he didn't want that ever again. He closed his eyes, blocking the thoughts out.

'Mr Finch?'

Reese's pokerfaced voice broke through his thoughts. Harold looked up at him, eyeing the piteous look in his eyes through his own well-constructed pokerface. Harold collected his cane and eased himself out the car thanking Reese quietly as he stood up. If things were going to work, Reese would have to learn to cover his emotions. In the elevator, Harold and Reese stood shoulder to shoulder in silence.

'If things are going to work between us Mr Reese you need to improve your mask. If people can see any emotion you will be shot on site, there will be nothing I can do.'

John nodded again as the doors open. They walked out into a large white walled and black floored hall. Harold limped over to two large doors, opened them and entered the penthouse. Harold's penthouse had the standard white wash walls and black floors with uniform furnishings. The penthouse was open plan, the sparse kitchen on the right that flowed around to the even sparser living area with black leather sofas which faced out to a large clouded glass wall. Towards the back of the penthouse, where a series of rooms, mostly likely bedrooms, bathrooms and a study. There were two more rooms that didn't seem to serve any obvious purpose other than a spare rooms. Harold walked over the kitchen and reached up to the cabinets for a glass. Reese saw what he was trying to do and rushed over to help him. He reached over Harold and got a glass down. Harold looked at John.

'I am fully capable of doing this myself.'

'I know but it's my job to serve you and you are in pain. Take a seat and I will get it for you.'

Harold reluctantly took a seat at the bar and watched Reese stand in the kitchen.

'If there anything you'd like in particular?'

'Just water.'

Reese poured some water into the glass and placed it in front of Harold. Harold picked it up and drunk a little. He looked at Reese still stood beside him, he placed his glass down, slightly irritated.

'There are no cameras or microphones in there, relax will you? And sit down.'

Reese sighed heavily and sat at the bar. Silence brooded between them. Reese turned to Harold.

'I have a few questions.'

'I thought you might. Ask away.' Reese's brow furrowed, Harold picked it up immediately. 'This slave and Master relationship only exists outside this apartment, in here you are my friend and partner. You do not have to watch what you say, and we are to have complete honesty with each other. Outside this apartment, you will speak only when spoken to. You will guard me and serve me. Understand?'

Reese nodded. He hesitated before asking a question. 'You're a sense offender?'

Harold paused. 'Yes.'

'Why?'

'I don't need TyRon to numb my emotions Reese.' The two men looked at each other. 'Before I created TyRon, I lost the woman I loved. The world died that day and I vowed to change it.'

Reese processed the information about the infamous Harold Finch.

'Why me? What made you want me?'

'Mr John Reese. The highest ranking Larrelle in history who sacrificed everything for the benefit of State. You are highly skilled and have little connecting you to this world. Perfect for me. There is nothing to cloud your judgement. I've watched you for years now, I've been very impressed with you and then you ceased you dose and became a sense offender running to the underground to hide. I needed someone who still felt but needed the necessarily skills and…' he paused, considering his next word carefully. 'Stamina. Have you any more questions?'

'No, I don't think so.' Said Reese, trying to make sense of the new information.

'Ok, just ask when you do.' Harold stood up and walked over to the cabinet and got down a glass, he reached into another cabinet and took down a bottle of scotch. 'There is one thing I need to know.'

Mr Reese looked up at him.

'Why did you become a sense offender?'

'I was out the State one day, doing a raid. One offender jumped me and broke my dose. I skipped it, I started to feel, I started to realise what was happening to the world. We were destroying everything that made the human race great, all the creative and emotional things, all burnt. I didn't want to be part of it anymore.'

Reese angrily pushed his bar stool away and walked over to the large clouded glass wall. Harold followed him. Reese stood in front of the glass with his arms folded bristling with anger at what the 'great' human race had become. Harold stood next to him, the silence stretched out between them.

'I'm sorry for what I created.' Harold said quietly.

Reese sighed. 'It wasn't aimed at your specifically Mr Finch.'

'Harold. Here I am Harold and you are John.'

'Ok Harold. It's not your fault, you were trying to help solve conflict, you didn't know this would happen.'

'I have something to show you.'

Harold limped over to one of the back rooms, he opened the door to the sparse bedroom and walked through it, sliding yet more clouded glass across revealing a large balcony overlooking the State. John walked out to the balcony slowly, Harold looked up at the look of utter wonder in John's eyes. The look created a warm feeling resonating deep inside Harold, a feeling that he hadn't felt in years. He stopped those thoughts, it was too soon.

'From here you can see the whole State and no one can see you. Here is one of the only places I feel alive.'

John looked down at him over his shoulder. 'One of the only places?'

'One of the only places.' Harold confirmed.

More silence spread between them as the winter sun set below the horizon.

'Beautiful.' Harold whispered.

John smiled tightly, he thought he'd never see a sunset again.

'Come on, let me show you to your room.'

Harold limped back inside leaning heavily on his cane. He paused and leaned against the door, joints screaming in pain. He closed his eyes and composed himself. He felt strong arms around him and the ground disappear from beneath his feet. His eyes opened quickly.

'John this isn't necessary. I can look after myself.'

'I don't know anything about your injuries but I know a lot about pain. You are in an excruciating amount of it, let me help you. You saved my life, let me save you. Please.'

Harold stopped resisting and relaxed into John's muscular arms. For the first time in years he felt completely safe, like he had in the days before TyRon. John carried him over to the bed and set him down on it, Harold rest his head against the pillow and his eyes drifted shut. He felt John remove his shoes, socks, jacket and vest then pull the covers over him.

John stood back and looked at the sleeping man on the bed. He would never have guessed that the man who, essentially, controlled the world was a sense offender and that he would be living with him. He closed the door and walked back into the living area, he scanned the room looking for a place to sleep. He'd never been one to sleep in beds or sofas, he sat down on the floor in the corner and leaned back against the concrete closing his eyes, comforted by the safe feeling that Harold had given him.


	3. Uneasy Feelings

**Soundtrack: When Things Explode – Unkle (Feat. Ian Astbury) **

Harold awoke next morning from a blissful sleep, he hadn't slept so well in ages. He sat himself up as his eyes adjusted to the morning light. As he turned over he realised that he was still in wearing his clothes. He hated sleeping in his clothes – he felt dirty, like the sense offenders in the outlands. He put his feet flat on the floor as he remembered the previous day, he smiled, John Reese was his. He stood up and changed out his dirty clothes, replacing them with a sharp crisp shirt and suit. He sniffed and smelt the wonderful smell of bacon. He opened his bedroom door to find John walking shirtless around the kitchen, totally caught in his own little world. Harold stopped and looked at him, and smiled. Everything seemed so perfect. John looked at and caught Harold smiling.

'Morning Mr Finch.'

'Morning, and in here my name is Harold John.'

'Morning Harold.' John smirked,

'Morning John.'

Harold sat at the bar and John placed a plate in front of him, they sat and started eating. Harold took a bit and hummed his appreciation, his eyes closing as the flavour exploded on his tongue.

'Where did you learn to cook?'

'Don't you know?' John asked, Harold stared at him blankly. 'Early Larrelle training. You effectively become a slave and you have to work for the Larrelles to test commitment and how you respond to orders, after a while they start you on the training.'

'Oh, I didn't know that.'

John frowned at him then shrugged his shoulders, not pressing the subject further. He chose a happier tone. 'Are there any plans for today?'

'Ah.' Harold patted his lips with the napkins. 'We have to watch an execution.' John froze at the name. 'I'm sorry John. As creator I am required to watch some. I don't like them, but it keeps up my appearance. If I didn't go they'd assume something was wrong. You will accompany me.'

'Is there anything else?'

'If I ask you to do something you will do it, you will also protect me if anything out of the ordinary happens.'

'Has it happened before?'

'Not for a long while. And John, remember your mask. You can't give anything away.'

The drive took them through the city, from the east and put them in the more reputable west side, where the corrupt politicians lived. Harold watched the buildings through the tinted windows, part of his knew that taking Reese out so soon was a risk. The executions were normally messy and harrowing and they couldn't let any emotion seep through. Harold cast a glance at John, he hoped John would survive it. But John was a military man, he's killed before, he's looked death in the eye, he'll be fine.

Reese pulled up at a large square building, he opened Harold's door and looked up the building. The building itself had chills, he supressed a shiver that ran down his back. He looked back down and his eyes met with Harold's, imploring him to remain strong. Harold leant heavily on his cane and they slowly walked up the stone steps. Above them, the large doors opened and a chunky, bald man walked out.

'Morning Mr Finch.'

'Morning Mr Elias.' Harold and John stood opposite Elias, he shook his hand. 'Mr Elias, this is Reese. My new slave.'

Elias looked blankly at Reese. 'John Reese? I heard you when feral.'

'Rumours sir.'

Elias nodded slowly and looked back at the building. 'Execution is at 10:45 sharp.' He walked back towards the building. Harold shot a look at Reese then followed in Elias's footsteps. Inside, the chill in the air remained and the sound of their footsteps echoed off the empty walls. Reese stood at Harold's heel, they walked through the security fence with no hassle from the guards who showed them through the maze of corridors to the execution chamber. They stood in a gallery above the chamber, bullet proof glass separating them from the sense offender below. Elias stood at the glass, a living passion in his eyes. Harold groaned and touched his hip, Reese noticed it and pulled up a chair. Harold eased himself into it.

'Thank you Reese.'

Reese nodded and stood behind his chair, he looked at Elias. Him and Elias went back years; in the first TyRon years, Elias had been the physical enforcement power. He ran the Police forces and later made the Larrelles, the new arm of the law. It was Elias who trained Reese, Reese had been his slave and he earned his keep. The day Elias set him free as the highest ranked Larrelle, had been a proud day. Elias caught Reese staring at him.

'Come here John.'

Reese looked at Harold, who nodded. Reese walked over to Elias, Elias patted his shoulder and stepped back from the glass.

'Stand here John, it's been years since you've seen an execution.'

Elias patted his shoulder again as he supressed the rising panic and anger. John locked his eyes onto the sense offender in question. He recognised the face but didn't know where from; then it clicked. A Larrelle he once worked with called Fussy? Fiasco? Fusco. Definitely Fusco. John sighed, this couldn't be happening. He risked a quick glance at Harold, blue stony eyes met his. Harold gave the minutest of nods and Reese turned his gaze back to Fusco, below him.

Fusco was dressed in a beige linen suit, covered by a heavy red leather cloak. He was surrounded by guards who walked him to the far wall and took the cloak off him. The guards starkly walked back to the entrance and loaded their rifles. Fusco turned around slowly, his head was bowed and his hands were visibly shaking. Reese was breaking inside but he had to watch. He could free Elias's dark brown eyes boring into him, if he let anything slip Elias would catch it.

Harold watched John, he tucked his hands between his thighs and the chair. He couldn't let Elias see him shaking either. He wanted to comfort John and let him know that it's ok, he wanted to take him out the room and give him the life he so desperately deserved. He hated this, he hated the damn drug he created. He kept his eyes on John, just hearing it was enough to make his stomach turn.

'The execution of Lionel Fusco is about to begin.' Boomed over the tanoy.

John watched as the firing squad readied their rifles. Three…. Place bullets in the chambers. Two… rifles to shoulders. One… pull the bolt back. Zero… squeeze the trigger. A solid loud bang pierced through the air. Fusco's body fell to the floor in a lifeless heap. John let the breath he'd been unintentionally holding go. He panted and tried to stop the tears springing from his eyes. He composed himself and turned back to the two other men in the room. Elias smiled and clapped then walked out the room, the door sliding closed behind him. John looked at Harold.

Harold shook his head, keeping all emotion from his face and eyes. He pushed himself up.

'Let's go Reese.'

'Where to sir?' asked John, keeping his voice empty and steady.

'Back to the Penthouse.'

Reese walked over to Harold and pulled the chair aside. He stood before the door, activating the pressure pad in the floor. The door opened and John and Harold walked out; outside, Elias was talking to a Larrelle, Harold walked straight past him with John in tow.

In the saloon, John leant his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes.

'Not here John, we're not out of sight yet.'

Reese picked his head up and gripped the wheel turning his knuckles white. He angrily jolted the car into gear and sped off. In the back, Harold gripped his hand around the handle above the door, his legs stiff against the chair, keeping him in place. He understood John's anger and feared it.

'Slow down John!' he cried.

John wasn't listening; he sped through traffic lights and didn't stop till he slammed on the breaks in the underground car park underneath Harold's building. John climbed out the car and slammed his door. He walked straight up to the elevator doors, Harold followed as quickly as he could leaning on his cane. He put his hand between the doors stopping them from closing. He stood inside next to the bristling John. Harold heard John's breath being pushed through his teeth, he knew John was ready to blow and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

As soon as the elevator pinged John sprung out and made a beeline for the doors. He pushed them open and slammed them. Harold leaned against the doors and listened to the smashes, shouts and pained screams from within. He closed his eyes, it hurt to hear John in so much pain, and part of him new it was his fault. He brought John into his life and condemned him to come to these things. Harold opened his eyes as the screaming shots. He put his hand on the handle and gently pushed it open. John stood in the middle of the room, his shirt suit ripped in places. His chest rose and fell in quick succession, around him, vases and bows were smashed. Harold stood and looked at him. John looked up.

'I'm so sorry Harold.'

Harold looked at him, blank faced. 'Don't worry about it.'

Harold walked past him and down one of the corridors John hadn't seen before. John watched him go. He fell to his knees and looked at the mess around him. He'd been under the influence when he knew Fusco, so they hadn't been friends. But seeing him – the real him – had been crushing, Fusco wasn't a small man but he looked tiny in that room, tiny and innocent. John felt sorry for the man before him, but he was angry at the system. They killed those who were different, those who wanted something else. John leaned forward and rested his forehead on the cold floor. He got his breathing under control then stood up and went after Harold. He turned the corner to find the corridor empty. John paused and listened; his closed his eyes and listened for any sound. In the distance he heard the slight tapping of footsteps, bare foot on a wooden floor. He followed the sound through the penthouse, turning around corners and losing his barring's. He soon came to a door that didn't fit with its surroundings: large, ancient, mahogany by the looks of it. He put his ear against the door. The footsteps walked a few paces then stopped. John looked at the bottom of the door and saw two shadows in the light.

'Enter.'

John placed a large hand on the door handle and pushed down.

**CALIFF HANGER! Thank you to all those who have read this, I'm having great fun writing it, I hope this continues! Much love x**


	4. The Room

**Soundtrack: Feeling Good - Escala**

The door opened and John stepped inside. He froze. Around him, the walls covered with dark red and black patterned wallpaper, lit with dull upwards pointing lights. A few expensive paintings of old hung on the walls, the room had antique furniture in it – all dark wood. In the corner stood a tall chest of draws with details carved in and dirtied metal handles, in another corner, a large cross made of the same dark wood. The centre piece of the room was a huge four poster king size bed with burgundy satin sheets; a black leather chesterfield sofa stood in the far corner. John's eyes moved around the room, scanning every single detail, he looked like he was about to cry at the view before him. This sort of stuff only existed in his imagination and those who skipped their doses. The sound of the door closing brought him back to the now. John continued to stare at the room.

'You're a sense offender.' He whispered quietly.

'Yes. Yes I am. This is my biggest secret John; you of all people should understand this.'

John went to turn around.

'Don't turn around John.' Harold's voice was quiet but sharp, a commanding tone running through it. Harold walked up behind John and slipped a blindfold over his eyes. John's breath caught in his throat.

'I watched you outside, I felt powerless to help you, then I remembered something. Now John, I haven't brought anyone in here in years, my previous slave, Nathan, couldn't cope with this, but I think that you can. If you can't, tell me and I will never bring you in here again. In here, we will let everything go, all emotions, all thoughts, everything.' He paused and walked around the front of John. Harold reached up and started unbuttoning John's suit. 'When you enter this room, you will kneel next to the door in nothing but your boxers. You will have your legs open with your hands on your knees. You will keep your head down, and you will not speak till I say so.' Harold dropped John's shirt on the floor then dropped to his knees, untying his shoes and removing his socks. Harold stood back up and took John's belt buckle in his hand. John's breath hitched.

'This is for your benefit John. Do you want me to stop?'

'No.'

Harold unbuckled John's belt and pulled the zip down. His trousers pooled around his ankles. Harold stepped back to look at the view: he found something so majestic in the way John's skin shimmered and glowed. He wanted to know it's secrets. Harold took John's hand and walked him over to the bed, he gently pushed on John's shoulder making him sit on the bed.

'Move to the middle.'

John scuttled back. Harold walked around the bed, looking at the man in the middle. He turned on the speaker system. A violin started singing the first verse of 'Feeling Good', Harold guessed that this was the first music John had heard in such a long time. Harold knelt on the bed and crawled his way up John's legs. He reached down for John's wrists and pushed them back, making them lie down flat. John make a choking sound as he felt Harold's bare chest against his. Harold stopped, he was crashing through boundaries like they were paper. He reached up to the bedpost and pulled out a thick leather cuff. He tied it around John's wrist, then leaned over to the other side and repeated the action.

'Wh…?'

'Shhhh. If it gets too much, tell me to stop and I will.' Harold leaned in and planted a slow, long kiss on John's lips. He felt John trembling beneath him. Harold pulled back and kissed his way, slowly, down John's neck and chest. John moaned and pulled against the cuffs. Harold ran his tongue along the waistband of John's boxers. John rubbed his feet against the satin. Harold hooked his fingers in John's boxers and pulled them down; he flung them across the room. He knelt back on his ankles and looked at the sight before him. John: naked, and restrained, the blindfold blocking his sight, his cock hard and straining. Harold gave himself a small smile, there were many things he couldn't give John, but he could give him this. He crawled closer again and breathed onto the head of his cock. John moaned then gasped as Harold took him in his mouth. John pulled against the restraints hard and Harold bobbed his head, his wet lips running over John's hot skin. Harold put his hands on John's muscular thighs and rubbed his thumbs in circles. He knew John was getting close. He pulled off and leaned in, yanking the blindfold down. He stood up between the two foot posts as John's eyes adjusted to the room.

John blinked and looked around as his eyes focused on a silhouette of a man before him: he stood between the foot posts of the bed with his hands resting on them, he was a shorter than himself and with a few more pounds around the middle. He was wearing only a pair of soft, faded jeans with the button missing. His shoulders were relaxed and dominance oozed out of him. Harold was full of surprises. John noticed the dark pink scar on the back of his neck and a similar one poking out the top of his jeans on his hip.

Harold crouched down, his eyes focused on John's. He hesitated before crawling up John's leg kissing it, he nuzzled his inner thigh, he rubbed circles on his thighs again. Their eyes met.

'John I can relieve your anger, but only if you want me to.'

'Please Harold…' Harold dug his thumb into the pressure points, making John yelp. 'Please sir…'

'Is this your first time?'

John closed his eyes as a pained expression past across his face. Harold sat up.

'John?'

'I was Elias's slave. What Elias wanted Elias got.'

'Oh John… I'm so sorry.' Harold climbed off the bed and limped over to the chest of draws and picked up his shirt.

'Harold please, change the memories.' Harold paused. 'Please sir. Make those memories change.'

Harold bowed his head and thought about it for a few second. His brought his head back up, and squared his shoulders, he dropped the shirt on the floor. He turned back around and walked back over to the bed, he climbed on and knelt between John's legs again. John watched him in earnest. Harold took a small vial of lube out of the black of his jeans, he rubbed it on his hands to warm it. His gaze met John's again, Harold read the unspoken message dancing in his grey eyes. He leaned down and gently rubbed his hole, he felt it tense then relax. He gently eased one in, John's eyes rolled back in his head and he let out a groan. Harold gently pushed it all the way in. He soon felt John relaxing around him.

John groaned and pushed back against Harold's fingers, he felt another push in. He tensed then relaxed against it, he kept his mind alive with the new memories of Harold: their first meeting, first walking into the apartment, stood between the bed posts in those jeans… another finger pushed against him. He looked down at Harold, his brow furrowed in quiet determination, his eyes unreadable. He groaned.

Harold looked up, he let his emotions into his eyes. He stood up again and dropped his jeans. He smirked as John gasped. Harold knew he was big, he was bigger than Nathan. He knelt down again and leaned over John. He kept his eyes on John's face, he pushed forward. John closed his eyes, Harold stopped.

'Please don't stop…' John said in a breathy whisper.

Harold pushed forward again pulling a groan from John. Harold stopped, letting John adjust. He opened his eyes and gazed at Harold. Harold pulled out again and pushed in, John pulled against the restraints. Harold kept the slow pace; his hip was beginning to ache but he needed to keep this going for John – part of him also loved the feeling of power again. Outside this bubble, he was a powerful man but that power bored him. This was the real power: leaning over someone, they can't move, you drive them crazy till they call your name.

'Sir… please…'

'Please what?'

'Harder. Harold harder please.' He cried.

Harold smiled then leaned on his arms. He pushed into John, harder, faster. John pulled against his restraints hard, his hands went white. They panted heavily. Harold could feel his mind going fuzzy, he locked his eyes onto John. John suddenly tensed below him and slumped against his restraints. Harold leaned his head back as his mind exploded. He stills and breathed through the convulsions within him. He leaned over and untied the cuffs, he rubbed John's red wrists and kissed them lightly. He looked down at the man below him, he smiled and laid next to him. He laid his arm over John's toned chest. He felt John's strong arm on his back.

'Thank you Harold.'

'No problem.'

Harold rubbed John's chest. His eyes felt heavy, they drifted shut. The gentle rise and fall of John's chest, lulling him into sleep.

**When it comes to authors notes, I never know what to write, so bear with me. How are you guys finding this? Is there anything you want to see happen? I understand that some of Harold's movements – especially in this chapter – wouldn't be possible due to his injuries. I hope you that you all have enjoyed reading this, it has been a pleasure to write. I also hope to carry this one and I hope that you keep reading **** xx**


	5. The Things We Owe

**Hi guys! Thank you for reviewing! I'm sorry to say that updates may slow down over the next few months – I've broken my shoulder and damaged (pretty much all) soft tissue in my back so typing is hard and rather painful but I will get there and keep this updated as I can. **

**Soundtrack: The Things We Owe – Takida **

John held Harold's sleeping body. He sighed and relaxed. Harold was right, of course Harold was right, he did feel better – all the anger he felt against the State and especially Elias. Others had always been in control of John and he'd hated it. Harold's dominant control was different: he wanted it. Harold also gave John something, human contact. With Harold above him, leaning over him, John wanted to touch him so badly. He reached out but the restraints dug into his wrists hurting him but that pain was ok, it reminded him that he did feel, both physically and emotionally. He needed it. He remembered the sparky glimmer in Harold's eye as he came. He left so alive, so wanted.

As he held Harold he felt complete. He had never expected to touch let alone hold him. He man was at least ten, maybe even fifteen years older than him. He found his sleeping form adorable. He looked so young in his sleep. The creases around his eyes had gone and his facial muscles were relaxed. Harold twitched in his sleep, John kissed his head and smiled, but part of him new this couldn't last, they'd be found out soon enough. He'd cheated death many times, too many times. He pulled Harold closer, not wanting to think about it.

Harold stirred away, he groaned and opened his eyes. He was disorientated, the bed below him was warm and the room was swimming with colours. He panicked. John held him tightly.

'You're ok, you're safe. You fell asleep.'

Harold pushed himself up off the bed and collected his shirt off the floor. He put it on, bristling with annoyance. John sat on the edge of the bed puzzled.

'We don't sleep in here John.'

'It's been a while since you've been in here, maybe you're out of practice.'

Harold spun around and glared at John. 'This isn't something you practice John, it's born within you.' He paused. 'Out.' John looked at him. 'Get out Reese.' He said raising his voice.

John pushed himself off the bed, gathered his clothes and stormed out, grey clouds brewing behind his eyes. The heavy door hit its framed. Harold let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, he hadn't meant to snap at John. But he was right, he was out of practice. Nathan couldn't cope with this so he hadn't brought him in here again. When he was younger, he came in here a lot. He'd had very strict rules:

No talking

No sleeping

No love

And he'd broken all of them with John in the last few hours. He was angry with himself, not John. He sighed and dressed himself again.

He walked out into the main area of the penthouse. John was nowhere to be seen, Harold checked each of the rooms. John had gone. Harold stood next to the table near the sofas, his mind racing with infinite possibilities. He grabbed the lamp and launched it across the room. He could he have been so stupid? He moved quickly to his study and pulled the chair back from behind the desk. He lowered himself onto his knees. He crouched beneath the desk and unlocked a secret compartment hidden on the underside of the desk. Inside, was John's Larrelle file. Harold sat on the desk chair and opened it, skimming for the information he was looking for. He found it. He limped towards the door and grabbed his coat, he made his way to the elevator.

His car was where John had abandoned it. He climbed in and drove into the State. He composed himself quickly, he had a rough idea where John might be. It was very rare for Harold to drive out of the State; he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually been outside the State. He sighed, he was frustrated with himself. He should have kept in practice, he should have been in control more, he shouldn't have shouted at John. Their relationship was still so new and fragile, it needed time, patience and understanding.

Harold slowed down as he reached the outer wall. A State Guard walked out a check point and signalled for Harold to stop. He wound his window down.

'Mr Finch, what is your reason for going into the outlands?'

'I don't need a reason.'

'Everyone needs a reason sir, the outlands are full of danger.'

'So is your future career if you don't let me pass.' Harold turned his head as much as his neck would allow, to look at the guard. The guard hesitated then stepped back inside the checkpoint and opened the gates. Harold drove through slowly. He eyed the guard through his rear-view mirror.

The outlands were vast and grey. The distant horizon was lined with black forests and the ground was cold and wet. Fog hung close to the ground intercepted by the odd tall dark grass or plant. Harold drove slowly, he gripped the wheel tightly. All sort of dangerous animal and human lived out here. This is where people disappeared without a trace. Harold breathed out, his warm breath condensing against the cold air. He turned the heater up slightly. He drove further and further into the mist. John's file had said that this was where he found an outlanders camp. This had been his first major find, Harold knew it had been abandoned in the months after the raid, outlanders never lived in the same place twice. John also knew this, Harold hoped that he was right. He glanced at the file beside him and checked the location. Just a few miles further. A few estranged animal calls made Harold's blood run cold. He turned on the radio to block them out.

'_The scars reveal the hidden place deep down in you  
Like a shadow from the past and nothing is true  
A reflection from a dejected face, it comes to  
Memories will last, I am crying for you,  
I am crying_

I'll, I'll give my own time  
I'll give my whole life  
I'll give my only light  
Just to heal you

I, I'll give my own time  
I'll give my whole life  
I'll give my only light  
The things that we owe…'

Harold sighed. This was a favourite of his; composed by a Swedish rock band called Takida. They were around in the early 21st century. Harold liked their sound. He had hidden buildings full of music, books and films. Being the richest and most powerful man in the State, no one asked any questions. He had contracted some people to build something that still plays music – he saw hundreds when looking through evidence back in the early days of TyRon. He got different people to build different pieces then pieced it together himself. The contacts were untraceable. Harold needed music. He realised from a young age that when you're happy you like the tune and when you're upset you understand the words. Music had always been a solace for Harold.

Harold emerged into a clearing in the dark forests. This was it. He stopped the car and gingerly climbed out, he left the headlights on. Up a head of him, an old church by the looks of things was falling down, probably centuries old. He took a few steps towards it, he stopped when the trees to his right rustled.

'John? John is that you?' he asked, trying to keep his rising fear from his voice.

More rustling happened on the other side. Harold spun around, adrenaline crashing through his veins. The outlands were full of wild, hungry animals – maybe this was their way or tormenting Harold before they killed him.

'John?' he called out again. 'I'm sorry John. Please come back.' He paused. 'I need you.'

A rock fell from the church, making Harold jump. His breathing came fast and heavy through his mouth, his eyes were wide as he stood frozen to the spot, staring up at the church. A silhouetted figure moved against the sky. The figure jumped down off the roof and landed in front of the door, lightened by the car's headlights. The figure covered his face.

'You told me to get out and now you want me to come back.' A dark voice drifted on the mist, laced with danger.

'I was wrong. I'm sorry John. I had rules for that room and I broke all of them with you. I've never done that before.' Harold paused. 'I realise that this is all new and we don't yet know each other's limits.'

'This is one of them.'

Harold ignored the comment. 'John I am so sorry. Please come back. I won't do anything like that again, I promise. We can learn about each other, what they like what they don't like.'

'We aren't supposed to like anything Harold.' John butted in.

'I know, I regret making it. I hate what the world has become. What is living without emotion? Eh? It's existing; we're existing to continue our existence. It's pointless.'

John took a few large strides over to Harold. Harold pushed himself back against the front of his car. He closed his eyes as John brought his hand up to his face. Harold was waiting for the hit that never came. Instead, he felt John's gnarled fingertips brush his cheek.

'I'm sorry. I know how you feel about TyRon.' He said softly. 'I'm sorry, I overreacted, this is all new to me. It's been years since someone's touched me and wanted me. I didn't know how to handle it.'

'Have… have you worked it out?' Harold asked quietly, opening his eyes. He looked up at John, he stood so close. He felt his permeating body heat.

John leaned down and planted a feather light kiss on Harold's lips. 'Yes, I want this but I need time.'

'Yes. Of course, we can work through this together, as long as it takes.'

'And no more lies.'

Harold smiled, 'No more lies.' He paused. 'Come on, let's go back.'

They held each other's gaze before walking around the car. John walked to the driver's side.

'Let me drive. I drove through the gate so I need to be driving on the way back.'

'I didn't come out the gate.'

Harold hesitated and walked around to the driver's door. He lowered himself in and leaned over to the glove box. He took out a fake Larrelle ID and opened John's file. John sat in the passenger seat and watched as Harold cut his old Larrelle pass photo out and slipped it inside the fake ID and handed it to John. John looked at it then took it.

'You have a file on me.'

'Files exist on every Larrelle, past and present. I stole yours years ago.' Harold lowered his voice and gaze. 'I've wanted you for years John. I found out all I could about you in hope that we'd meet one day.' He confessed. 'This will get you through.'

'I am the most wanted person in the city. I can't be seen using my Larrelle pass.'

Harold leaned over and kissed him. 'You're forgetting I'm here, no one says no to me.'

'I'm your slave, I drive.'

Harold sighed and climbed out the car. They switched seats. John turned the key in the ignition and the beefy engine purred into life. The radio continued playing the song again.

'_I, I'll give my own time  
I'll give my whole life  
I'll give my only light  
Just to heal you_

I, I'll give my own time  
I'll give my whole life  
I'll give my only light  
The things that we owe.'

John listened to the lyrics, deep in thought. Harold cast quick glances at John, he knew it was new ground.

'What song is this?'

'It's called The Things We Owe by Takida. They were a Swedish band from the 21st century.'

'I like it.'

'It's one of my favourites.'

'You have more?'

'I have loads of music, books and films. I kept them safe for future generations. I also like to listen them every now and again. My secret.'

'I haven't heard music in such a long time.' John said wistfully.

The State wall appeared in the distance. John tensed, his knuckles whitening against the steering wheel.

'John calm down and don't let any emotion out.' Harold gritted through his teeth.

'Harold. What happens if we get caught?'

'I don't know John. I honestly don't know.'

John calmed down and looked at Harold. John nodded and slowed for the gate. He wound his window down and the same guard from before came out.

'ID.'

'I am transporting Mr Finch back to his residence.'

The guard shone his torch into John's face then across to Harold's.

'Any ID sir?'

'I am transporting Mr Finch back to his residence.'

'I need ID sir.'

Harold leaned towards the window, his cold blue gaze piercing through his glasses. 'I have already spoken to you today. Let us pass.'

The guard stepped back and opened the gate. John drove forward, Harold raised his hand and John stopped the car.

'You have been warned. Do not cross me again, if you do, I will send you to the halls of execution myself.'

The guard nodded and stood back. Harold waved forward and John eased the car open winding the window up as he went. When the window whispered shut John let out a sigh and glanced sideways at Harold briefly.

'You are terrifying sometimes.'

'Keeping up appearances Mr Reese.'

John took the subtle hint and rebuilt his poker face and drove deeper into the State.

'Continue straight here.' Said Harold, completely deadpan.

**Well ow, typing really hurts! This only took 5+ hours of slow typing. Nethertheless, I have enjoyed writing this and playing with the power change between them. I also enjoyed the harder side of Harold. Thank you for reading and reviewing **


	6. Suspects

**Sorry this is taking so long – my arm is being a bitch but I can't not write so typing is the next best thing – I honestly think I'd go mad if I couldn't get these ideas out. Anyhoo, on with the story…**

Elias's eyes focused on the large screen in front of him through his glasses. Elias had been Finch's ear on the ground. Together, they built up TyRon. Elias fed Finch information from the Governments around the world: anything they had on their weapons, war plans and conflicts. Finch then used this information to the best of his ability – ratting out and creating very persuasive arguments for the need of a drug such as TyRon. Then the fifth world war broke out, Elias was called to fight. The things he saw chilled him to the very bone. He saw the need for Finch's drug, they fought and fought till it got the go ahead. It made them rich. Elias hadn't looked back since. He stood in the middle of a dark room walking live and archive feeds from CCTV records. The current clip showed Harold driving into the outlands.

'Stop it there.'

The technicians stopped the feed. Elias walked up to the screen and looked at the still of Harold's face. He put his hand on his chin and pushed his tongue around his teeth.

'What could you possibly want in the outlands Finch?' he mumbled to himself. He signalled to the technicians to continue the clip, he saw the altercation with the guard. The clip moved forward quickly to Harold's return a few hours later.

'Stop. Focus in on the driver's face.'

John's stern filled the screen. Elias smiled broadly.

'Oh John… you really do surprise me, you really do.' His brow creased. 'But what were you doing?' Elias turned away from the screen and paced, methodically around the room. 'Search all feeds from the last 3 hours through facial recognition. He slipped past us, find out where. Also set up alerts for when he is picked up by live feeds. I want to know everything about him. Get me his Larrelle file.'

One of the technicians left the room. Elias sat in a chair and looked at the screen. The technician re-entered the room.

'Sir, file could not be found sir.'

Elias leaned back in the chair.

'What do you mean the file could not be found?'

'The file went missing years ago, it hasn't been found.'

'Who took it?'

'Again unknown sir.'

Elias sighed. 'Thank you.'

The technician nodded once solidly and resumed his seat. Elias stood up and left the room.

He walked down the concrete corridors to his office. He pushed open the solid black door and sat at his desk. He turned on the computer. The office was sparsely furnished: a black desk, black chair, black computer equipment and black tinted windows. Elias ran background searched on Harold Finch and John Reese. There were hundreds of news and propaganda articles on Finch – the man they hailed as God – Saviour of the Human Race. They painted Finch as some sort of Saint: rich, powerful and extremely intelligent. Elias scanned through hundreds of pictures – mug shots and photos from articles. Elias stopped on a picture of Finch giving a speech: Finch stood behind a podium, he was looking down at a piece of paper. Elias focused in on his eyes and saw a small tear in the corner of his eye. He racked his brain, he had been present at the time of the speech. Finch had been listing the names of dead sense offenders: he remembered the smallest of hesitations as he read out Grace Hendricks. Elias paused. Grace Hendricks. He wrote the name down in a notebook beside the computer. He tapped his ear piece.

'Shaw.'

The penthouse was in darkness, the only light source from the moon and State below. Shaw stood in Harold's bedroom. She tapped her ear piece.

'Cameras installed sir.'

'_Good. Search the residence.'_

'Sir.'

Shaw tapped her ear piece again. She never questioned her Master. What Elias wanted, Elias got. He'd sent her here to find proof of sense offence. She too, had once been a Larrelle but the Elias brought her, he saw more potential in her. She was stronger than those her size, faster, and just more – a consequence of her upbringing. Shaw was ten years old when Harold Finch declared the world take TyRon. The world was in ruin, the fifth world war had killed most the population and those still alive were grief stricken. They needed help. They needed a cure. What the world didn't know was that he himself stole children and tested on them – how humans react to his drug and how to make them better. Many died, some survived. Shaw built muscle quicker and kept it, her hearing was better and she was faster, a lot faster. The average human reaction time was 215 milliseconds, Shaw, and those like her were much better off at 120 milliseconds. She was a deadly weapon working for a deadly cause. Elias brought her from the State for an extortionate amount of money: then he trained her, hand to hand combat, knives, swords, guns, everything she could possibly use to become the ultimate killer.

Shaw stood in Harold's bedroom listening for any sound. Nothing. She walked over to the bed that almost filled the room, she knelt down and ran her hand under the edge of it: if Harold was hiding anything, she knew he wouldn't be stupid enough to hide it where it could be accidentally found but she better check anyway. She'd made that mistake before and Elias beat her for it. She was faster than most people, but only when she had the freedom to move. She worked her way around the bedroom: checking under everything, on the underside of everything and if anything was out of the ordinary. Harold was a man of money but he had to keep to the rules too. Shaw slipped out the bedroom and into the next room. She flicked through the piles of paper on the desk and ran her hand along the underside of the desk. She froze.

John opened Harold's front door. He paused, his hand still on the door. Harold stood behind him.

'What John?'

'Someone's been here.' John took the gun out the back of his pants. He tensed, ready to pounce. 'Stay here.' He said quietly.

John walked further into the penthouse, he waited and listened before turning each door. The main area was clear and undisturbed. He checked the backrooms, he turned to Harold, still stood in the doorway.

'I need the key Harold.'

Harold sighed and walked over to John. He looked at him sceptically. 'It's locked John, one way in one way out.'

They walked through the corridors, Harold unlocked the door and John checked the room. He walked around, checking under the bed and behind the old chesterfield. John re-joined Harold back out in the corridor.

'It's empty.' Said John.

They heard the balcony doors open, John sprinted through the penthouse into Harold's bedroom, only to see a quick blur jump over the edge. He ran to edge and looked over – the intruder was at least half way down already. Harold walked out onto the balcony and looked over.

'Who was it?'

'I don't know but they were fast.'

Harold's head snapped up, he walked back inside, cane clinking on the floor. John followed him into the kitchen.

'What is it?' asked John. 'Harold, what is it?'

Harold let his cane fall to the floor. He placed his hands on the kitchen island and kept his back to John. Harold knew what had been here and knew he was powerless to stop them. He closed his eyes and felt John stand behind him. John laid his hand on his. He pulled his back and spun around, poker face in pace.

'It doesn't matter Mr Reese.' Harold tried to push past John, but John being the bigger and stronger man his efforts were futile. 'Let me pass Mr Reese.'

Harold reached up and slapped John, causing him to stumble back. Harold stood up as straight as he could and shot John his coldest, emptiest gaze.

'I am your Master and you will obey me.'

Harold started to walk towards his bedroom. John stood up and strode after him. He grabbed Harold's shoulder and pulled him flat against him, digging the barrel of his gun into his ribs. The hand gripping his shoulder, moved to his neck. Harold was panting, he could feel John's hot breath on his ear.

'You said that in this room that relationship doesn't exist. In here I am your friend and partner. That is what you told me the first day you brought me here.' John said menacingly.

'I also said I am a very private person and you will do as I say, now let me go.'

John dug the barrel in deeper, making Harold gasp in pain. 'But you know something about what happened here and you won't tell me. It's my job to protect you; I can't do that if you won't let me. So tell me, what do you know.'

'If you let go of me now, I will not punish you.'

John paused, he leaned even close and said in the quietest of voices. 'There is nothing you can do to punish me.'

Harold's eyes widened. In that moment, he realised John was right. That man had seen everything. There was nothing in this world that Harold could do that would be worse than what had already been done. Harold gave in.

'I know who, more what was here.' Harold paused. John eased his grip on his neck and stepped back. Harold soothed his neck, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, he remembered every single face of the children he'd stolen. He heard them all the time: screaming in pain, screaming many of his names – Crane, Crow, Quail, Starling, Swift. He didn't want to admit his crime to John. 'While creating TyRon, we unintentionally created a better, more precise human being. They were quicker than normal humans, their reaction times were roughly 120 milliseconds. They were dangerous, but most of them died young.'

'Most?'

'Most. Every now and then some survived.'

'Where are they now? The survivors?'

'Anywhere and everywhere.'

'Are they traceable?'

'No. It wasn't right.' He sighed heavily and added in sadder tone. 'Nothing was right.'

'Is there anything we can do?'

'I don't know.' Harold stood up and let his blazer fall from his shoulders. 'It's late. Let's go to bed.'

Harold left the room without saying another word, John watched him go. The situation played back in his dead – what had he been thinking to turn on his Master like that? John clenched his hands into fists. This was the end. He'd broken the delicate trust that was forming between them. John watched the line of light at the bottom of Harold's door disappear into darkness. He grabbed his bag and shut himself in the bathroom. He stood before the mirror and took out a small syringe. He put the needle into a small vial filled with a thick orange liquid. He shakily pulled up his sleeve and pushed the needle into the soft, inner flesh of his elbow. He looked his reflection in the eye. His pupils dilated. He relaxed, he pulled the syringe out and left it on the side. He turned on his heel and walked out the bathroom. John walked over to the large wall and sat in the corner. He leaned his head back against the cold concrete and closed his eyes.


	7. Raid

Shaw stood next to Elias in the small darkened room. The screen in front of them was cut into nine boxes, each was a different camera angle of the penthouse and its rooms. In the middle box, John was sat at the kitchen island drinking a glass of water. His posture was rigid and his eyes were sharp.

'If you want to get them executed, why not use this?' asked Shaw.

'This is off the record, a pet project of mine.'

'Why do you want to get them?'

'Why do you ask so many questions?'

Shaw nodded and muted her tongue. Elias focused in on John's face.

Harold woke next morning with a searing pain in his desk. He sat up and grimaced. He soothed his neck and right shoulder. He remembered their fight the previous night, he regretted it. The way he acted with John. This was all so new to the both of them and they were both still learning. Harold stood up and opened his wardrobe, he took out a crisp white shirt and put it on. He buttoned it up slowly thinking of how he was going to apologize to John. John had been right though, John was a soldier, he had seen things Harold couldn't even imagine. There was nothing Harold could do to break him. You can't break what's already broken, only fix it. Harold took out a dark grey tie and knotted it. He pulled on a waistcoat and buttoned it up. He opened his bedroom door.

John sat at the kitchen counter wearing black slacks and a grey t-shirt. Harold walked over to him, socked feet breezing on the hard floor. John must have heard him coming, John stood and turned around.

'Morning Mr Finch. Can I get you anything?' he asked deadpan.

Harold looked at him. 'Don't worry, I'll do it.' He walked into the kitchen and reached up for a glass. John stood behind him and reached over him. John filled up the glass and placed it on the counter for Harold. Harold looked at it.

'Thank you John.'

They sat down, Harold took a few tentative sips of water. 'I'm sorry about last night John.'

'No worries Mr Finch. I was wrong.'

'Why do you keep calling me Mr…?' His voice stopped as the answer dawned on him. 'John what have you done?'

'Cleared up Mr Finch. You have a meeting today at TyRon about manufacturing and resources.' John stood up to do the washing up.

'Sit down Reese.' Said Harold carefully, watching his every move. John sat. 'Look at me.'

John looked at Harold.

'You've taken it haven't you?'

'Yes Mr Finch.'

'Why?'

John's brow furrowed. 'Because… because… It's for the greater good.'

Those words chilled Harold to his core. Those were the words he used in his first speech after he got everyone to take TyRon: _This is needed, for a future with no wars, no conflicts and no fighting. This is needed for the greater good of humanity. _He pushed the thoughts away. Harold stood next to John, he kissed him harshly putting them off balance. They fell to the floor with a heavy thud, Harold held John close.

'I am so sorry for what I did last night. I should have told you the whole truth but I'm ashamed of it, of what I did. It was wrong. I was wrong. I stole children and experimented on them until we created a better human, they were stronger and faster but they died young. No one knew what we were doing.' Harold sniffed back the tears. 'I am so sorry John, I will never do that again. I promise. Just please come back.'

'We have work to do Mr Finch.'

John pushed himself up off the floor and held out a hand for Harold. Harold took it then walked into his bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, he took out a small black bag. Inside was a syringe filled with the emotionless creation he made. Harold rolled up his sleeve and dipped the needle into his soft flesh. He stopped. This was wrong, this was turning his back on his beliefs. He carefully took the needle out and put it back in the small bag. He leaned back on the bed and closed his eyes. His world had been steady for years. He didn't have any connection to anyone and it had worked, he kept up the appearance that he took the drug and it was easy. But he craved contact. Then he heard that the famous Larrelle John Reese was on trial for sense offence, he'd fallen for John at first sight. Harold smiled as he thought of John. Harold always knew that taking in John would be a gamble. But the benefits weighed out the cons, he knew that path wouldn't be smooth, he just hadn't seen this.

Elias looked up at the screen. Harold lay on his bed. Elias watched for every movement. He could see Harold struggling with the emotions running through his head. He had almost turned back to TyRon, almost. The door opening caught Elias's attention. John stood with his back to the camera. Elias tapped the audio on.

'Is anything the matter sir?'

Harold sat up and looked at John. 'No. Just neck pain.'

John nodded obediently and left the room.

Shaw re-entered the darkened room.

'Sir.' Elias turned to her. 'Offenders in the outland sir. Assistance required.'

'Thank you.' Shaw left the room. Elias turned back to the screen and laughed darkly. _Assistance required._ Elias walked out the room. Shaw was waiting outside, she walked next to Elias as they made their way through the vast corridors, Shaw had worked under Elias for a few years now, since he worked high up in the State Government, she saw herself as a State Assassin. Killing off those who went against the system. Her first kill had been a citizen who had ceased his dose. She stormed his house one night and killed his whole family. They didn't stand a chance against her. She was faster. Her next kills were in the outlands, a group of Offenders smuggling emotional content into the State. That night she met John Reese, the Larrelle sent in to help. They fought side by side. There was something she admired in him, they were so similar yet so different. As Elias and Shaw turned a corner into a car park, Shaw walked over to a large all terrain car and opened the backdoor. Elias climbed in. Shaw shut the door and climbed into the driver's seat.

The inside of the car was a clean white leather. Shaw stopped momentarily at the end of the slip road. She turned the corner onto the road that led to the State wall.

'Drive past Mr Finch's Shaw. We might need assistance with this.'

'Reese sir?'

'Yes.'

'I am better trained than Reese, I am stronger I am faster.'

Elias leaned forward and clipped Shaw's ear painfully. 'Reese is expendable. Drive.' Elias leaned back in his seat and looked out the window. Shaw drove the car to Harold's penthouse and pulled into the underground car park. She turned off the ignition and walked around the car and opened the door for Elias. He climbed out walked towards the elevator. Shaw stepped after him.

'Wait here. I won't be a minute.'

Shaw stood next to the car as the elevator doors blocked Elias from her sight. Elias waited patiently for the elevator to arrive at the top floor. He thought about what he'd seen. It would be so easily to uncover their secret but Harold would crush him. Elias was few people who knew what had really happened to Nathan. The elevator beeped and the doors opened. Elias walked out into the white walled and black floored hall. He knocked on the double doors. John opened them a few moments later.

John looked out at Elias stood in the hall. He realised that he was taller than Elias but thinner. Elias had the physical presence John lacked. John looked at him.

'One moment sir.'

Elias nodded and noted the glassy gaze in John's eyes – TyRon. John returned a few moments later with Harold behind him.

'Ah Mr Elias. To what do I owe the pleasure?'

'Raid in the outlands, I thought you might want to see your beautiful creation at work.' Elias shifted his eyes to John and back to Harold. 'We might need assistance and I thought it would be good for you to show your face again, to overlook the way things are done.'

'Of course. Let me grab my cane.'

Harold walked off back into the penthouse.

'Have you any weapons Reese?'

'Yes sir.'

'You will be needing them.'

Harold came back to the door wearing his coat, hat and with his cane in his hand. He passed John two large hand guns.

'I overheard your conversation.'

John nodded and put one gun in his ankle holster and the other in the back of his slacks. He held the door open for Harold. The elevator ride was uneventful. As soon as the doors opened at the bottom Shaw, climbed out the car and opened the backdoor for Elias.

'Want to take the same car?'

'No thanks. I get awful sickness. Reese shall drive me.'

Elias nodded courteously and Shaw closed the door. Shaw drove towards the entrance of the car park and waited for them. John opened the car door for Harold. He got in the driver's seat and drove behind Shaw and Elias. Harold looked at John with solemn eyes via the rear view mirror.

'John, if the rational part of you can hear me, please don't do anything stupid. It should start wearing off in a few hours.'

John didn't give a reply, his eyes flickered back to the road. They drove through the city in silence. Harold looked out the window, he had to be ready for John's comedown. It couldn't be public. He knew that John would remember all this but he would feel nothing, he didn't know how he'd feel once the drug was out of him. Harold knew he had a lot of apologizing to do. The State wall soon appeared in the distance.

The black forests lined the horizon. The morning sunlight dazed the grey grounds. The mist had lessened but it was still eerie. Elias had informed Harold that the raid was happening near an abandoned church. Harold knew exactly where the church was, and so did John. Harold guessed this was where John had run away to after he ceased his dose. He wouldn't have guessed that others also lived here, but it made sense really. Sense offenders often lived in packs – greater chance of survival and greater security. The church in the clearing appeared a head of them. It was surrounded by Larrelle's firing up at the roof, a few sense offenders fired back. John stopped the car and climbed out, he opened the door for Harold and helped him out. Harold stood next to Elias with John and Shaw just behind them. Elias leaned down and shouted near Harold's ear as a Larrelle jogged over.

'Mr Finch, this is Carter. Larrelle in Chief.'

'Hello.' Said Harold.

'Hello.' The female voice surprised Harold: female Larrelle's were very rare. 'We estimate maybe 50 underneath the church. Simple clean and sweep.'

Carter nodded to John and Shaw. Harold looked back at John and waved his hand. John and Shaw drew their runs and jogged towards the church. Carter nodded to Harold and Elias and too jogged back to the church. Harold and Elias watched as Shaw killed quickly and efficiently. Harold leaned closer to Elias.

'She's fast.'

'Yes, she'd one of the test subjects. Cost a lot, I brought her off the State a few years ago. She's served me well.'

The rapid gunfire died down. Shaw appeared behind them again. Elias smiled and walked back to his car.

'That's my girl.'

Harold watched as Shaw climbed into the driver's seat and drove away. Harold walked towards the church, leaning heavily on his cane. The Larrelles were walking back to the combat vehicles. Harold searched for John. He walked around the back of the church and into the first few lines of trees. He turned to his left and stopped dead in his tracks. Carter was kneeling above an injured offender. She was talking to him quietly, Harold could hear what she was saying, but the offender's eyes were glued on her. His body convulsed as his life dissipated. Carter thumped the ground in frustration. Harold turned to leave, his cane snapped a stick below him. He cursed. He turned around to see Carter pointing her gun directly at him.

'Don't move a muscle.'

'I can assure you Larrelle I won't but you might want to reconsider your planned actions.'

Carter stepped closer, her dark piercing eyes scanning his. She lowered her gun slightly.

'You're an offender.'

'As are you. Where's Reese?'

A Larrelle jumped out of the trees and pointed his gun at Carter and Harold.

'Get on the ground now!' he shouted.

Harold stood his ground, Carter sprung into action: swinging her leg around and kicking him in the knee and firing two shots into his neck. Harold looked at his slumped and broken body. He blinked and looked back at Carter, he took her arm.

'We have to go.'

'I haven't seen him. He takes TyRon by the way.'

'No he doesn't, only this once. We had a small disagreement.' Harold leaned closer and grabbed Carter's hand. She looked at the leather glove covering his hand. 'Come with me. I can keep you safe. Both John and I are offenders, it's not safe for you by yourself.'

'From what I've seen it's safer to be alone.'

John ran over to Harold and stood between him and Carter he held his gun at Carter.

'What are you doing?' he demanded.

'Reese, drop your gun.' Said Harold.

John looked at his Master and dropped his gun.

'Carter is coming back with us. She is safe.'

Harold walked back to the cars, Carter and John looked at each other then walked after him. John opened the car door for Harold. He opened the opposite door for Carter and she sat inside. John sat in the driver's seat and turned on the ignition.

'Be quick driving back Mr Reese.'

John nodded. Carter looked at Harold who gave her a piercing look.

'Keeping up appearances.'

Carter nodded and looked out the window. John groaned quietly, Harold leaned forward.

'Reese, listen to me. It's wearing off, just hold on till we get back to the penthouse.'

'Sir.' He grunted through gritted teeth.

John pulled the car into the underground car park and leaned heavily on the wheel. Carter opened her door and ran around to John's, she took out a small knife and made a cut on his stomach. She prodded it making it bleed. Harold stood behind her.

'In case anyone asks what's wrong with him.'

She hauled him out the car and put his arm around her shoulder. They walked over to the elevator.


	8. Coming Home

**Rest In Peace, the Great Robin Williams. A man of great talent and great sadness, may he be remembered for the way he made people feel. Only the Good Die Young. **

Elias pushed his roughly into his small bedroom. He landed on the bed, Elias grabbed his wrist and twisted it around his back and tied his hands together. The bed was hard and cold, the rough sheets scraped at his skin. Elias pushed his head into the bed and looped his thumbs in his belt loops, he pulled them down sharply. He knew what Elias was going to do and he was powerless to stop it. He left a heavy weight on his legs and the bed, a sharp relentless pain. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He wanted this to be over, he tried to make his mind go other places. He was thrown onto his back, two large hands clamped around his throat. Elias grunted above him then left him. He was broken. He laid there wishing the world would end.

Harold led John into the bathroom and sat him in the bottom of the shower. Harold turned it on. This was the comedown: John's heart rate would spike and his temperature would rise sharply. He needed to be kept cool. John groaned against the water, his t-shirt stuck to his toned chest. Harold looked at him, he felt sorry for John and knew that this was his fault. If he hadn't shouted at John over something so petty, if he was honest with John they wouldn't even be here. Harold shrugged off his coat and jacket and slipped off his shoes, he put his glasses next to the sink. He sat next to John in the bottom of the shower and pulled John's head onto his shoulder. His wet clothes clung to him uncomfortably.

'John, I don't know if you're listening to me but I want you to know I'm sorry. You were only trying to help me and I should have told you everything. That person who was here, I created them. Before TyRon, I knew that the human race needed to change so I stole children. Children with no families, children who wouldn't be missed. I experimented on them, to speed up the evolution process. I made them faster and stronger, but they died young. Most of them died during the experiments and those who did survive died alone and painfully. Their bodies would start to decay from the inside out. One of them has survived, she still lives among us.'

'Elias's slave.' Muttered John.

'Yeah. Shaw. I didn't realise what she was till she ran into the church.' John shifted and relaxed against Harold again. 'John. I'm so sorry. I should have told you, I feel so guilty – this is my fault. I have caused you so much, and I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me.'

Joss walked to the bathroom with a tray of drinks in her hand. The door was ajar slightly, as she approached she heard a hushed whispering. She stopped and peaked through the gap between the door and the frame. John sat up and looked at Harold, he rest his hand against his cheek and kissed him. The cold water ran over their faces and their hot lips. Harold melted into the kiss. John broke the kiss and rested his forehead on Harold's.

'If you can forgive me, I can forgive you. I was stupid and foolish to take it. I'm so sorry.'

Harold's lips found John's again. It was such a beautiful sight. The sight resonated a feeling deep inside Joss's heart. She turned away back to the kitchen. She had intruded for long enough anyway. Joss stood in the kitchen, she thought about the scene she'd just witnessed. True, honest love. Something she hadn't felt since she was a little six year old girl: her mother kissed her goodbye. Joss watched as she was dragged away by Larrelle's. She didn't understand what was going on at the time so she stared blankly. Joss brought herself back to the now. She decided to take a tour of the apartment. She walked out onto the balcony and looked over the city, it had its own strange kind of beauty. She didn't feel happy. She walked back inside and checked the rooms at the back of the penthouse: a bedroom, an office, she already knew where the bathroom was. She turned the corner and walked along a corridor. She saw a door that peaked her curiosity: large, ancient, mahogany by the looks of it. She pushed down on the handle but it didn't open. She tried again.

'It won't open Joss.'

Joss instinctually grabbed her gun and spun around, pointing it at Harold. He stood before her dressed in black slacks and a white linen shirt. His hair was still damp and spiking in every direction. He leaned heavily on his left leg. Joss lowered her gun and slipped it back into her trousers.

'Sorry. Instinct. I didn't hear you coming.' She apologized. 'What's behind here?'

'Nothing of any concern.' Harold turned around and started walking back up the corridor.

'Don't make the same mistake with me.'

Harold stopped, he paused before turning around slowly. His gaze was long and determined. 'I won't. I am a very private person and you and John are very different people. I spread my dreams beneath your feet, tread carefully.' Harold turned back around and walked back to the main living area. Joss watched him go. Harold Finch was a complex mix of lies, pretences and personas. His last sentence hung heavily on her mind. _I spread my dreams beneath your feet, tread carefully. _Time was, Harold's dream was a have a world with no conflicts. That's why he created TyRon – he saw how the heart of every conflict was human emotion so he got rid of it. Now that dream had been achieved she wondered what his new dream was. Harold was the richest man in the State, quite possibly the country, he could buy anything he wanted. What did Joss have that he could possibly want? She gripped the way as a wave of nausea washed over her, her knees buckled beneath her, she sat on the floor. She was so confused. Harold Finch had given her a place where she was free to feel but hadn't asked for anything in return, but the coldness in his eyes and voice has awakened some human reaction within her. There were some things he wasn't about to share and the answer to one lay behind the door. The short man with the spikey hair intrigued but also scared her. Her heart and breathing raced. What did this man want? Her trance was broken by the arrival of John. He stood in the corridor dressed in black linen trousers and a navy tank top.

'You ok?' he asked.

'Yeah, just adjusting to this, that's all.'

'Thank you for helping me earlier and sorry I tried to shoot you.'

Joss laughed and her pushed herself up. 'Hey, don't worry about it. I would have done the very same thing.' Joss stood with her back against the wall, silence grew between them. 'So Finch huh?'

John's lips broke into a smile, he laughed under his breath. 'Yeah Finch.'

They laughed nervously again. 'He's unique.'

'Yeah he is.'

'John?' she said in a more serious tone. John's smiled dropped and he looked at her, eyes yearning. 'Do you know who he is?'

John paused for a long time. 'No, but he saved my life so I don't question him. Why do you ask?'

'Oh it's nothing. See you around.'

Joss walked past John as he headed back to the main living area. John hesitated before walking further down the corridor. He found more bedrooms, rooms lined with suits, a gym, a pool and a shooting range. John opened the door to the shooting range and turned on the lights. In front of him the room dwarfed him. It was as big as a sports hall and down the far end were some human shaped targets, in front of John stood a few tables lined with various guns and other weapons including cross bows and small knives. He walked up to the desk and ran his fingertips down the length of a gun. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand: 17cm of plastic and metal. 9 mm and 17 rounds, resting in the magazine. The handle is large and moulded into shape. It was heavy in his hand, John looked down at it: no safety catch – professionals don't need safety catches. He pointed the barrel at the ground and read the number imprinted on the base: 1456, his number. He brought the gun back up and held it at arm's length. He squeezed the handle, he brought his other hand to grip the base of the gun. His index finger danced lightly over the trigger, he pulled it. Five bullets rung out. This felt good. John walked around the tables and started firing again, he efficiently moved around the room, he rolled onto the ground and stood up again as the last bullet left the barrel.

'You look so hot moving like that.' Came a breathy voice. John turned around to see Harold stood in the doorway, he smiled at him. 'Food's ready.'

John walked back to the table, he dropped the empty magazine out the gun and laid both items on the table. He walked over to Harold and they exited the room. Harold pulled the door closed. They walked through the corridors back to the main area. Harold hooked his arm in John's.

'Are you feeling better?'

'Yes. Although Carter is a little bit sceptical of you.'

Harold shrugged. 'I don't blame her, everything has changed so quickly for her. I am the last person you'd think an offender.'

They turned into the living area. Joss was sat the kitchen island breakfast bar eating a stir fry. The two men joined her and picked up their chop sticks.


	9. Reassurance and Reason

Harold walked around the apartment leaning on his cake. He sighed with every step – all the days antics and fired up the tight and scarred muscles in his hip. But he didn't mind. The lamps dotted around the room filled it with a warm, mellow light. He walked over to the black leather sofas and leaned down to pull the blanket over Joss. She laid curled up on the sofa asleep, resting her head on her arm. He paused and looked at her: she was beautiful. Her dark, warm skin glowed against the black leather of the settee. Her dark hair fell around her pretty face in long sweeps. Harold grazed his thumb over her cheek bone. He admired Joss, they first met years ago when Joss first joined the Larrelle training academy. She was one of few women there and she excelled, climbing the ranks one by one. She was strong and she was determined. It was customary for Harold to read out and hand out the Larrelle colours, he remembered Jocelyn Carter. He thought she was beautiful, even then. He picked up her glass off the coffee table and carried it to the kitchen. He put it on the side, the sound of a heavy door closing caught his attention. He looked towards the corridor and frowned. Only one door in the penthouse made that sound. Harold turned to look at Joss's sleeping body, he dimmed the lamps. Harold walked down the corridor.

John waited inside the Room. He managed to pick the lock and get inside: it was cold and dark. John searched the room for the small remote that Harold had used to power the lights and music. He found it hidden in one of the bedposts. He turned the lights on. The room was smart and tidy – he didn't even realise had had the time to clear up. He shuddered at the memory – Harold's cold words stung his heart. He breathed deeply and walked around the room, running his hand over the silk sheets, the solid wood and the smooth walls. He laid back on the bed and moved his arms above his head, listening the quite whistle from the sheets. His heart swelled at the memory. The door opened and he sat up. Harold stood in the large doorway, black slacks and a white linen shirt, his now dry hair spiked in all directions. He leaned heavily on his cane.

'What are you doing in here John?'

'It's comforting. The smell and feel of the room.' Silence fell between them. 'I have a few questions Harold, about all this.' He said in a more serious tone.

Harold walked further into the room, his cane scraping on the wooden floor. His face contorted in pain and his knees buckled, John lunged forward and caught Harold before he hit the floor. They knelt in the middle of the room, dwarfed by the sheer size of the furniture.

'Are you ok?' asked John. 'Are you hurt?'

'No, I'm fine.' Harold put his hand on John's shoulder and tried to push himself up unsuccessfully. They looked at each other. 'These questions…'

'We need to get you to your bed, you need to rest.' John tried to help Harold up.

'No John. Stay. Please.' John considered his actions then knelt on the wooden floor opposite Harold, their knees touching. Harold took John's hand in his. 'Well… this room… has been my solace. It allows me to be in control. Yes, I know I am in control of the State but it's different. I want this control and it gives me a… high that I can't find anywhere else. The State and the world is boring. It doesn't need me, it doesn't do anything for me, if anything it repulses me. I don't like what it has become and I made it that way. This room lets me be free, my injuries, my burdens, my pain, it doesn't matter in this room. I am free and I want to share this freedom with you.' He paused. John squeezed Harold's hands reassuringly. John knew he needed someone who'd listen and not pass comment. Harold spoke again, quietly, taking his time. 'When I was growing up, I never had any control then one day, someone found me. Her name was Grace. I was working in her back yard clearing some rubble, she offered me a drink then hit me. I'd never been hit like that before. Then she acted like nothing happened. She was rich, powerful and generally gorgeous. One day, she took me inside the house, into a room not that different from this and she… she made me feel so alive. The power she had. I was her submissive for a few years.'

'Did you Dominate her?'

Harold hesitated before answering. 'Yes, whilst I was learning, I did. But it didn't last, it didn't feel right doing that to her as she had done to me. I found my own submissive. Then the world changed for the worse. All sense offenders were executed. I took TyRon in the early years out of fear, then I stopped. I tried with my previous slaves but I didn't feel right and soon it became a way to vent my anger. It wasn't what I wanted. Then I found you. There was something about you, something mysterious, a challenge so to speak. But I don't see you as a slave John, you've got to see that. I only gave you the collar because I didn't know how you'd react. All I ask is that you are submissive when I want you to be, that's all and maybe, if you wish, you could try being the Dominant. It would mean a lot to me. To really be yours.'

'I've never been Dominant with anyone, I'm not a Dominant person Harold, but maybe, with time, it might work.' John paused. 'Are you happy with what you found?'

Harold blushed and smiled. 'Oh John. I found so much more.' Harold rubbed John's hand with his thumbs. He leaned I and kissed John tenderly. John recuperated.

'We should go, she'll be worried.'

'John. My legs… I don't think I can…'

John kissed Harold again. 'Do you require a lift?' John smirked. John hooked his arms under Harold's arms and raised his eyebrow at the small giggle that escaped Harold. John gently dug his nails into Harold's ribs and tickled him. Harold's laughter filled the room. He wriggled around and fell back. John moved with him and carried on tickling him.

'John please, please stop.'

John's fingered calmed. He loved lovingly down at Harold. He hooked his arm under Harold's knees and stood up with Harold in the bridal lift. John groaned mockingly. Harold giggled. John carried Harold out the room.

Joss was still asleep on the sofa when they entered the room. John carried Harold straight to his bedroom and gently laid him on the bed. Harold stretched out and rubbed his aching muscles. John sat on the edge of bed and picked up one of Harold's feet.

'What are you doing?'

'Caring for my Master.' A smile played at John's lips. John rubbed at the tight knotted muscles in the balls of Harold's foot. Harold moaned and his eyes fluttered shut, he leaned his head back against the pillows. John carefully brought Harold's foot up to his mouth and kissed the instep. Harold moaned through closed lips. John laid a trail of butterfly kisses in the instep and up to his ankle. John crouched and laid Harold's leg on the bed, he kissed his way up to his knee, pushing Harold's slacks up. John continued to kiss his way up Harold's thigh. He nuzzled his hip, his face inches from Harold's crotch. Harold threaded in hands into John's smooth hair and massaged his scalp. John mouthed the beginning of Harold's erection through his trousers. Harold moaned John's name. John moved to Harold's neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses to his ear.

'You mentioned Shaw…' whispered John, he pulled back.

Harold opened his eyes and sat himself up. 'What do you want to know?' he asked quietly.

'Why.'

'In order to survive we needed to evolve. I tried to help the process along, I failed.' John stood up and walked out onto the balcony. Harold lifted his legs off the bed and slowly made his way out into the cool night air. John stood overlooking the State, his arms were at full length on the rail, his head bowed. Harold sighed then went up behind him and put his arms around his torso. 'I should have told you when I first realised it was her. I'm sorry. I didn't know how to, I feel great shame whenever I think of the hundreds of children I used. They're all dead because of me. I hear their screams all the time, every waking moment. I feel their pain twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. I'm sorry John, for the man I am.'

Harold walked away from John and stood with his back to him.

John looked at him. 'You're not that man anymore.'

'I destroyed humanity. I am not worth anything. I am a shell John, nothing more.'

John stepped over to Harold and held him in his arms, Harold tried to push him away but his efforts were futile.

'You are so much more to me. I live, I breath, I feel, all because of you, all for you. Only for you. You have given me another chance at life and at love. I… I love you Harold.'

Harold buried his face in the crook of John's neck and cried. He hadn't heard those words in such a long time. They were meaningless in their modern society. No one felt love anymore, no one felt sadness, happiness, anger or sorry. Society was numb and dead. Harold hadn't cried in years, all the weight of the burdens on his shoulders came out. He was a truly unique man. He was so strong, stronger than anyone he'd ever met before, but this was the reality, the price for his strength.

'Harold.' It was barely audible.

Harold looked at John through tear blurred eyes. John leaned down and kissed Harold deeply. They held each other tight.

Elias watched the scene before him. He found it tragic that the man who had created the greatest tool ever couldn't see its benefits. He chuckled. Harold Finch was something special. He pulled the small screen to fit the larger one in its entirety. He watched the two men.

'What is the point in this?' asked Shaw. 'If you want to catch them you need to catch them in the open.'

'Hold your tongue Shaw. I've let a few past, I won't be so lenient in the future.'

Shaw sat in a chair near the back of the room. Elias turned to her.

'You see, I need proof of sense offence which is obtained legally. I think Finch has been feeling for years but where he's always been alone he'd hidden it.'

'You think Reese will bring it out in him?'

'He will, after all they are so deeply in love. We just need to be patient. I want to you follow them, and get evidence.'

Shaw stood up to leave. 'What will you do?'

'Nothing of any concern of yours.'

Shaw left the room. Elias continued to look up at the screen, he smiled thinly. On the screen, Harold and John were still holding each other on the balcony.

**First of all my apologies for the almost smut near the end there. I will do another proper scene later on I promise. Thank you to all those you have read and an even bigger thank you to those who have reviewed. Much love x**


	10. War Calling

**Right let's see if I can spell today: Harold walked around the apartment leaning on his cake. That was supposed to say cane, sorry dyslexic and generally thick. Honestly, the day I learn to spell will be a bloody miracle ;-) **

It was a crisp dawn morning. Shaw sat in her car. She sighed and her breath condensed against the cold air, she shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her. She sat watching the small screen in front of her: Harold and John lay entwined on Harold's bed. They looked at peace. Shaw switched the screen to that of the main living space. Joss was half sat up on the sofa, she rubbed her tired eyes and stood up. She walked over to Harold's bedroom and opened the door slightly, she paused and closed it again. Shaw noticed the small smile on her face. She watched as she walked over to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of milk. Shaw moved again, she was frozen. Something caught her eye, she got out of the car and jogged towards the elevator door. She held her hand in-between forcing them to open again. The gentleman inside sighed and looked away from Shaw. Shaw stood next to him, glancing at him. He was your typical rich guy – suit, briefcase, smart brogues and neat hair. Shaw left his eyes on her as the elevator climbed. After a few minutes Shaw sighed, the elevator pinged and stopped the man walked out. The doors closed again.

'Sense offender.' She muttered.

The elevator continued to climb. It arrived at the penthouse suite a few moments later. Shaw got out and surveyed the hall, she ran at the wall climbing up it and holding her weight above the door.

Joss heard some tapping on the front doors. She put her glass down on the kitchen island and walked towards the front door. She opened it and walked out into the hallway. Shaw dropped herself down and clamped her hands over Joss's mouth. Joss tried to scream but no sound came out. She needed to remain in control of her emotions, she felt a blunt hit on the back of her head and everything went black.

Shaw hauled Joss's unconscious body into the elevator and out into her car. Shaw hauled Joss into the boot of the car, secured her wrists and ankles with cable ties then closed it. Shaw climbed back in the driver's seat and drove out of the tomb like car park.

John awoke first. The early morning light was harsh against his eyes but everything slowly went into focus. He down at Harold, sleeping below him. He smiled. This man had quickly become everything to him, he chuckled, he spied his collar on the bedside table. An idea flashed through his mind. He leaned over Harold and took it off the table; Harold groaned and John dropped the collar onto his jacket on the floor. Harold leaned back against John and stretched.

'Mmmm Morning John.'

'Morning Harold. Sleep well?'

'Yeah. I did, you?'

John leaned down and kissed Harold messily. 'Never better.' John planted more kisses on Harold's jaw and neck. Harold squirmed.

'Joss is still outside. We should cook breakfast.'

Harold climbed out of bed and hobbled over to the huge walk in wardrobe. He took out a shirt and put it on.

'_We?_ Are _we_ a couple now?'

Harold turned around and finished tying the buttons on his shirt, he smiled pleasantly. 'Yes, if you like.' Harold turned back around and collected two ties off the rack. He held them up to his neck. 'Now this one or this one?'

'The blue one, it matches your eyes.'

Harold blushed and walked back over to the bed, he leaned over and kissed John. John kissed him back and placed a large hand over Harold's cheek. He broke the kiss but kept Harold's face close, he spoke so quietly.

'We won't be able to share this.'

'I don't want to share this John. This is just between us.' Replied Harold, equally as quiet. 'This is just between, just for us. No one else. I promise.' Harold leaned up and kissed John again. 'Joss will be waiting, she's our guest, it's only fair we cook.'

Harold climbed off the bed and continued to dress himself. John stood up.

'Any arrangements for today?'

'Just a resources meeting, to keep me updated on where we are.'

'Just plain suits then.'

Harold smiled in agreement. He watched as John loquaciously stood up, stark naked and stretched. Harold chuckled, he knew John was playing this up but he loved it. As John stretched his taught, tanned muscles rippled and moved. Harold breathed out through his mouth, there were so many things he wanted to do to John, so many. He felt a familiar stirring within him. He walked towards the bedroom door and opened it. The living room was quiet. Harold smiled: he felt happy – must be John he mused. Harold walked over to the kitchen and took eggs and bacon out of the fridge; he looked up at the sofa expecting to see Joss still in the hold of sleep. The sofa was empty. Harold frowned, he put the ingredients down and walked over to the bathroom. He knocked on the door with his knuckles.

'Joss?'

No answer. Harold pushed the handle down and stepped into the empty bathroom. He returned to his bedroom and pushed the door open. John was stood in front of the mirror, flattening his shirt against his stomach.

'John, have you see Joss?' Harold asked.

'No. Why would I?'

'She's gone. She's not here.'

'What do you mean she's not here?' John asked.

'She's gone John.' Harold said raising his voice.

John looked at him through the mirror. John walked out into the room and over to the sofa. He placed a large hand on the black leather.

'It's cool. She hasn't been here for a while.'

'She's not in the bathroom and doesn't have a reason to go anywhere else.'

'Have you checked?'

'No.'

'Go and check.' John pointed towards the corridor.

Harold went to check. John walked towards the counter and looked at the glass of milk, still half full. He tapped the edge of it, the white liquid moved but John noticed how it stuck to the edge of the glass slightly. He also noticed how clear the rest of it was: a clear glass meant settled milk. This glass hadn't been touch in a while. John walked to the front door and opened it. The glittering earring on the floor caught his eye: he bent down and picked it up. He rolled it in his fingers deep in thought. John stood up as Harold returned, a panic reaching into his eyes.

'She's not there.'

'No. I found this.'

John turned around and held up the earring. He looked up at the wall above the doors. There were faint scratch marks in the paint. He reached up and tugged some fabric, caught in the wooden frame. He looked at it, his brow furrowing. He looked at Harold.

'Shaw.'

John suppressed a surge of anger and stormed back inside and into the bedroom. Harold followed. John checked his guns and loaded them, he put one in his ankle holster and the other in the back of his trousers against the small of his back. Harold walked over and grabbed John's wrist. The two men looked each other in the eye.

'What are you going to do?'

John didn't answer, he didn't need to. Harold already knew the answer.

'We'll be found out.'

'So we're just gonna let her die?'

'No, of course not. But we have to tread carefully.' Harold paused and let go of John's wrist. He ran his hand through his mousey brown hair; he turned his back to John. 'Elias has suspected me for years.'

'Suspected what?'

'That I'm an offender John.' Harold half shouted. He turned to John, clearly upset. 'He's suspected for a while, just never had any proof.'

John walked towards the balcony doors and paused, he put his hand on his chin. Harold took a few steps closer to John.

'He's been trying to bring me down for years John. He's a power mad dog John. When he was younger, he had such vivid ideas for the human race and the State. I did everything in my power to stop him achieving them.'

'We need to find Joss.' John said quietly.

Harold closed his eyes, defeated. He walked over to the wardrobe and took a small box out of the bottom. He put it on the bed and opened it. Harold stood back and relaxed his shoulders. John turned around and stood opposite to Harold, on the other side of the bed. They looked in the box. In the box lay two hand guns. Two Glock 17s. Large, lightweight and deadly. John glanced up at Harold.

'Thought you didn't like guns.'

'I don't. But every man had the capability to kill John, even the most gentle.'

Harold solemnly picked one up and loaded it. He looked straight at John, who nodded. This was war.


	11. In The Balance

***This chapter does contain rather graphic torture and gore* **

**Sorry for the slow update: I had a little spontaneous holiday (woohoo) and I've been at work most days and lastly, the words weren't coming. My apologies. I'm a firm believer of letting the words flow and not forcing them so after seven days of silent plot bunnies, they have resurfaced with a vengeance! I very rarely write torture, it's not something I like doing but if the story calls for it I will write it. I also understand that this is completely out of character for Shaw. **

**Soundtrack: Clubbed to Death - Matrix**

Joss awoke in an uncomfortable position. Her hands were tied behind her to a chair and her ankles tied to the legs. She lifted up her head and squinted around the room. It was a huge, dimly lit hall. There was a thick layer of dust settled on the concrete floor and no foot prints in it. How she got there was a complete mysterious. She calmed her rising panic and let her mind wonder back, trying to remember: the dull ache in her neck as she pushed herself off Harold's sofa. That's right, she stayed the night with the illustrious Harold Finch, _the_ Harold Finch. Drinking a glass of milk was the next, it was cold and tasted sweet. A quick series of thuds came next: she walked over to the door and opened. A figure jumped down and hit her over the head with something hard. Another memory jumped into her mind. It was Harold, the piercing look he gave her as the travelled back from the outlands. Those cold, emotionless blue eyes digging into her. '_Keeping up appearances.'_ Joss counted to five in her head then opened her eyes again: calm, relaxed and emotionless. She held her head low and listened carefully, the absence of sound heightened her hearing. She heard a steady constant dripping of water onto the concrete floor. There was something else too, a steady, quiet sound that resembled air being pushed and pulled through a small entrance. Her head snapped up. Breathing. She turned to the side just as a strong hand grabbed the back of her head and held it there, painfully. Elias breathed into her ear.

'Hello Jocelyn.'

'Elias.' She said, keeping her voice steady.

Elias ran his thumb over her cheek. 'You have really beautiful skin Joss, what a shame it would be to break it.' Elias laughed and walked away.

Joss heard a zip being pulled backwards then silence. She tensed and looked up. Shaw was holding up a knife, grinning. Shaw stepped forward quickly and held the knife under her jaw creating a small cut. Joss breathed out heavily through her nose.

Shaw stood back and circled her. Below her, Joss sat still, dark eyes focused on a spot on the floor. The cut on her jaw trickled down her neck. Shaw admired her resolve; it reminded her of her younger self. She was stronger than most by build. She'd been tortured, as a torturer it was standard – know the weaknesses. She bared the physical scars of torture: oil burns, broken bones, every unpleasant action under the sun, even sexual actions. What Elias wanted Elias got. And right now, he wanted information. She knelt down and prodded the tip of the knife under Joss's fingernails. Joss screamed as Shaw pushed the blade deeper. Shaw stopped and stepped back again.

'I'm going to ask you nicely. Are you a sense offender?'

Joss's head snapped up, she spat at Shaw's feet.

'Go to hell.'

Shaw backhanded her across the face, the knife in her hand making another cut above her eyebrow. Shaw returned to pushing the blade underneath Joss's fingernails. Joss shouted and gasped at the stale air. Shaw stopped and went back to the bag on the floor. Joss's hands shook; she dug her nails into her palms trying to stop the searing pain emanating from her fingertips. She took a few deep breaths and steadied herself for the next onslaught. She picked her head up, steely eyes in place. She had to keep her resolve.

'It's a simple question really, a yes no answer.' Shaw paused. 'Are you a sense offender?' Shaw shouted into Joss's ear.

'No.' Joss shouted back.

Shaw stepped close again. 'The first person I tortured was a 13 year old boy. I pulled out his nails out, he didn't tell me anything, I pulled out his teeth with pliers, still wouldn't tell me anything, it was only when I cut his face from ear to ear he had something to tell me, but at that point it was too late. I slammed the knife into his throat and watched his as he choked on his own blood.'

Shaw teased the trigger and the drill bit wheezed into life again and again. Shaw dug the drill bit into Joss's knee and waited. The two women stared each other down.

'You don't want me to do that to you do you?' she toyed.

'Do your worst, you monster.'

Shaw squeezed the drill and the end penetrated into Joss's bone. Joss screamed as the drill dug deeper, throwing blood, flesh and bone over herself and Shaw. The harsh vibrations rattled her bones. She shut her eyes tightly and screamed through the pain. Shaw pulled the drill out, a flick of blood going up her face. She held the drill up and teased it again. She looked down at Joss below her; wheezing heavily, head bowed and blood splattering the floor in a strange artist decoration.

'Come on Jocelyn, tell me the truth.'

Shaw sent the drill into the other knee, Joss screamed again, her throat raw. Joss looked up into the darkness of the ceiling. _Think other thoughts. Think other thoughts. _She thought of John and Harold. The opportunity, the life he'd presented her – he hadn't even asked for anything in return. The things she'd seen and shared with them: Their tender kiss in the bathroom, the adorable giggles, sharing food, all small and all significant. Shaw pulled the drill out and Joss convulsed. She rested her head on her knees, she felt her blood and small chunks bone against her forehead. She was in agony, her cheek throbbing, her knees ablaze with a searing, precise pain. She had to keep it together, she owed Harold that much. Shaw reached inside her pocket and dropped a black and white photo onto the floor in front of Joss's face.

'We already know what happens in the penthouse Jocelyn.'

Joss pulled her head up, the look of hate on her face palpable.

'Where did you get that?'

Shaw thought for a second.

'Oh yeah, the bathroom, in the penthouse, which begs the question, how did I get it?' Shaw paused and slowly paced up and down in front of Joss. 'It must have hurt a little to see Harold and John share that… tender, loving moment. What did he say? If you can forgive me, I can forgive you. It's sick.' Shaw shouted the last sentence and pushed Joss's head back violently. Shaw grabbed the bloodied blade, she dug the blade into the soft inside of her shoulder and pulled it across her chest. Shaw untied Joss's hands from the chair and forced her to stand up. Shaw tied her hands to a chain dangling from the ceiling. Shaw stepped back. Silence filled the room. Silence louder than a scream. A metallic crack ripped through the air and Joss screamed. Two dozen small nails attached to a chain dug into her back and ripped through the flesh on Joss's back. She shut her eyes tight and gritted her teeth. The nails bit into her flesh again and she screamed out, tears falling from her eyes. Shaw whipped her again.

'Stop.' Joss broke down in tears, she was defeated. 'Stop.'

Shaw's lips curled into a think smile and she dropped the bloodied chain on the floor. She walked closer to Joss and stood in front of her. Joss looked up, her breathing laboured and heavy.

'I remember you now.' Shaw threw her a puzzled eyebrow. 'Your partner was Mark Snow.' A faint flash of recognition flittered across Shaw's face. Joss leaned forward pulling on the chain around her wrist; her face was so close to Shaw's. 'I murdered him, and I was happy.' Shaw dug her hand into the large cut across Joss's chest and grabbed hold of her collar bone and pulled, breaking it. Joss screamed and slumped against her bounds, shaking with pain and shock. Her snapped collar bone jutted from her open wound.

The door at the far end of the great room was blown in. John ran in with Harold behind him. John fired shots in Shaw's direction causing her to duck. Shaw ran over to Joss and cut her down. Shaw grabbed a gun out of her bag and returned the bullets John had fired at her. Two of John's bullets hit Shaw in the hip, she yelped, she stumbled and fell into the darkness. Hit. He turned his attention back to Joss on the floor. Harold knelt next to Joss and held her hand. John looked into Joss's eyes.

'Hey.' She mumbled.

'Hey.' John smiled. 'Sorry we're late.'

Joss chuckled then grimaced in pain. She choked, pain filled John's eyes.

'Joss, stay with me, Joss please.'

'It was good yeah?'

'Yeah.'

'I'm sorry John.' Joss's eyes fell to Harold's. 'Thank you.'

Joss's body shook then stilled. The life left her dark, beautiful eyes. Harold hit the floor in frustration. John held her body closer and rocked it gently, back and forth. Harold picked up John's gun. John grabbed Harold's wrist and looked into his angry dark blue eyes.

'Don't do this Harold.'

'I have to. For Joss.'

John sighed then nodded. 'For Joss.' He confirmed.

Harold took up and followed Shaw's blood trail into the darkness. John listened the uneven steps of his Master disappear into the darkness. John placed a small kiss on Joss's forehead, he looked down her body, counting her injuries, shuddering at them. He respectfully laid her body on the floor and closed her eyes for the last time. He stood up and followed hot on Harold's heels.

***I do understand that what I have written here is not pleasant and if you do have any issues please do PM me. I am sorry for any offence and hurt caused. **


	12. Three Two One Zero

**I'm not that happy with this but I'm not sure why, but I thought I better post it anyway, I've been staring at it for days and no improvements are coming. If I suddenly think of something I will re-upload it. Anyhoo this is next chapter, please enjoy. All reviews welcome **

**Soundtrack: Adagio for Strings – Escala**

Harold walked up the marble stone steps to Elias's office, the only marks on them, Shaw's blood. He turned a corner and stopped. Before him, on the cold marble steps, lay Shaw's lifeless body in a large pool of her own blood. Her eyes were still open. Harold pulled the top of the gun back hearing the heavy clunk of metal from within. He continued his way up the steps, mind focused on one man. He heard a noise behind him and spun around, gun at the ready. John stood before him.

'I came to help. I am your slave, it is my job to protect and serve you.' Said John.

Harold hesitated then sighed. 'Ok, but you will leave Elias for me. This is between me and him. No one else.'

John nodded and gave Harold a second gun. Harold nodded and loaded it. They stood, side by side, guns ready dwarfed by two huge doors. They hesitated then pushed them open. The corridor leading to Elias's office was guarded by around sixty Larrelle's, thirty down each side in their combat uniform: black plastic like suits, all with heavy machine guns. Two Larrelle's ran from the far end and stopped midway, sending a hail of bullets at John and Harold. Harold ducked and returned fire whilst John jumped, spun and landed gracefully. Harold stood up again. Side by side, a gun in each hand. The Larrelle's took a millisecond to raise and fire at them. Harold and John moved down the room: twisting, turning, sliding as a well-oiled machine in a single synchronized choreographed movement. Bullets hailed the room, burying themselves deep in the marble walls. The Larrelle's fell to the floor around them. The two men moved effortlessly down the corridor, never more a few inches from each other. Harold crouched and John leaned over shooting two more Larrelle's. Harold ran forward and spread his arms out in a curve shooting dead a line of four advancing Larrelles. Silence. Harold ran to the door with John close at his heel. Harold stopped and put his hand on the large handle.

'This is where you leave me John.'

'Harold… I um, wait.'

Harold looked up at John, grey eyes clouded. 'What is it John?'

John cupped Harold's face and leaned down for a kiss. Harold reciprocated, deepening it. His eyes fluttered shut, this could be goodbye. Harold stopped moving his lips and John pulled back.

'This isn't goodbye John.'

John nodded and stepped back. Harold pushed the door open and walked into the circular office belonging to Carl Elias.

Elias sat at his desk, he tapped a steady rhythm on the desk. His eyes snapped up at the opening door. He smiled.

'Ah Harold. To what do I owe the pleasure.' Harold drew his gun and pointed it at Elias. The smile dropped from his face. 'I always knew you were an offender Harold, even since you read out Grace's name all those years ago. Bet you thought no one would notice. You're weak Harold. You always needed someone, whether you were dishing out orders or receiving them: you always needed someone. The human condition, the flaw in our design. But you created a remedy.' He smiled again.

'What I created has destroyed humanity.'

Elias chuckled and stood up. 'No, it has improved it.' Elias walked around the desk, his smile dropped. He looked into Harold's blue eyes. 'Be careful Harold. You're treading on my dreams.'

Harold anticipated Elias's next move and leap forward, pushing him back over the desk. Elias pushed forward again and grabbed a gun off the desk and started shooting at Harold. They stood close, a flurry of bullets flew in all directions. They battled, pushing each other's arms out of the way whilst trying to get a clear shot. They moved around the room. Bullets flew again. Elias knocked Harold's gun out of his hand and it clattered on the marble floor. Harold stumbled back and held his arms up. Elias smiled broadly and raised his gun slowly.

'See, the human flaw.' Pointed out Elias.

John entered the room, gun pointed at Elias. His solid, almost dominant figure commanding attention. His arms at length, gun nestled in his strong hands, his steady shoulders relaxed, his feet flat and knees locked. This is what he had been trained to do. Once a Larrelle, always a Larrelle.

'Oh this is fitting. Three men, two lovers, one outcome.' Said Elias mockingly.

Harold squared his shoulders. John glanced sideways at him. 'Elias, I can assure this isn't necessary.'

'Oh but it is, you see, you two are in deep trouble.'

'Remember who I am Elias. A mistake on this scale won't be taken lightly.' Said Harold. John recognised his voice and stance, this was Dominant Finch. 'I can crush you without even batting an eye lid.'

'Oh really.'

Elias chuckled again and shot John in the knee. He fell to the ground, the gun skidded across the floor out of his reach, he clutched his bleeding wound.

Harold moved to help John, he froze when Elias held the gun to him. He sighed. 'I told you to wait.' Harold almost begged, quietly.

'A friend doesn't leave a friend.' Said John, gritting his teeth at the pain.

'And there we have it. The Great Harold Finch, creator and controller of the world, a sense offender. And here we have him, with his… lover.'

Elias walked over to John and knelt down, John tried to push him away but failed. Elias dug his thumb into the bullet wound on the inside of John's knee. John groaned. Harold stood stony faced, his eyes glued to Johns. All void of emotion.

'Just admit it Harold.' Elias pushed his thumb deeper into the wound. Harold watched the pain on John's face. His resolve collapsed.

'Elias please stop this.' Harold begged. Elias pushed in harder and wiggled his thumb, John shouted out in pain. Harold raised his voice. 'Stop! Enough. Fine, I live I breath I feel. I feel.' Harold paused and looked John in the eye. 'I… I… I love you John.'

Elias laughed loudly. He stood up; he wiped his bloodied hand on John's trousers. An unspoken message passed through Harold's eyes. John kicked Elias in the stomach then pushed a gun over to Harold with his foot. Harold grabbed it off the floor and sent a single shot into Elias. The bullet hit him square in the chest. Elias dropped his gun and stared open eyed at Harold. He dropped to his knees as Harold stepped over to him. John watched him; this was Harold in his element. Elias looked up at Harold.

'Oh this is fitting. Three men, two lovers, one outcome.' Harold paused and dropped all the emotion out of his face and voice. 'And zero emotion.'

Harold punched Elias, hitting him under the jaw and knocking his backwards; he was dead before he lit the floor. John watched as Harold stood frozen for a few seconds: balanced on his tiptoes, hands still clenched. The tense anger dissipated. Harold ran over to John and knelt down, he took John's hand in his.

'John… I'm so sorry.'

'Is it true? You love me?'

'Yes. Yes I do.' Harold sighed at the wound. 'We need to get help.' Harold pulled off his tie and tied it around John's leg, just above the knee. 'This should stop the bleeding.'

Harold stood up again and sat at Elias's desk, a computer appeared out of the desk. Harold typed furiously, eyes flicking between the screen and the keyboard. He stopped as suddenly as he started and pushed the chair back. He limped over to John and helped him up.

'John lean on me.'

'I don't want to hurt you.'

Harold's gaze met John's. 'Please.' John gave in and leaned on Harold, being careful not to hurt him. Harold walked John over to the window behind. 'You'll want to see this.'

Harold and John stood at the window looking over the concrete jungle. John scanned the skyline. Two explosions filled his views. It took a moment to realise what was happening.

'The factories.' Whispered John.

'No more TyRon. The human race feels again.' Harold turned and helped John out the office.


	13. Submission

**So here we are, the end is near. Thank you for reading and reviewing – an artist always likes to feel appreciated. Thank you again. **

In the days that followed that fateful day, Harold and John watched it all from the penthouse, locked in their own bubble of happiness. John walked onto the balcony from the kitchen, a glass in each hand. He was dressed purely in grey linen, his bare feet tapping the balcony floor. He stopped and looked at the man before him.

Harold Finch. A smallish man clad in a silver suit with a dark burgundy tie, thick black framed glasses resting on his nose, a frowning brow with a thin black cane clasped tightly in his right hand and on his fourth finger a large silver ring with Master carved into it.

He stood on his balcony gazing over the dystopian world beneath him. His eyes carefully searched the ruined streets and smouldering grey concrete block buildings below: the scene familiar to that of an uprising, like those centuries before. He smiled. He loved this world. This was real, this world was… free. Free to feel: free to love, to hate, for happiness, for sadness. Free to feel. Harold was a rich man, the richest, although he was not in control of the world physically his money and wealth, he now shared with people of the State of Reconse. His infleunces stretched into the very DNA of the State. The warming spring air was pleasant on his joints; the warm seeped into the very core of them and gave him a new lease of life. He looked down at the cane in his hand, he lifted it up and snapped it in half. He didn't need it, he didn't want it. Now when he walked down the street, civilians greeted at him and smiled. He liked that.

Today was an important day, a few years ago he heard of a former military Larrelle: John Reese. A dangerous man who'd sacrificed all he could for his job, everything including his wife, one Jessica, executed for sense offence back in 3724. Back when the world was wrong. Harold loved John Reese. He looked down at his hands again and chuckled, he ran his thumb over the ring, feeling the letters under his skin. He took it off. John stood beside him.

'Lovely morning.' He said.

'Yes it is.' Harold agreed. 'The first of many.'

John looked down at Harold's hands and the ring.

'We can still do that y'know.'

'I don't know John. I mean, it's still part of me, it always will be. But it's not what I want right now.' John carefully put the two glasses on the balcony rail and leaned on his elbows, he frowned slightly but didn't say anything. Harold continued. 'This was something I had in a world without love, when love wasn't allowed to exist and now it is, I don't need it anymore.' He looked up at John and thought deeply. He threw the ring into the streets below. He brought his gaze to John's eyes. 'I don't need it anymore because I have you. You are the most courageous, selfless, handsome, broken man that I have ever known and every fibre of my being aches to be with you, to love you, to share with you this new world and all it had to offer.'

John smiled, a true, honest smile that reached his eyes. He leaned down and cupped Harold's head and kissed him. The world disappeared around them. All they knew were the smell of each other, the taste of each other, and the soft wet lips that moved as one. John pulled away but kept his head close to Harold's.

'You saved my life and gave me a purpose. I was staring death in the face and you saved me. Harold, I am forever in your debt, I can never repay you. You mean everything to me, and I would do anything for you. You are the most important thing in the world to me. I love you.'

For a moment, neither of them moved, and then Finch shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. John reached into his pocket and took out his collar. He kissed Harold again, reached up and clipped it around his neck. They broke apart. Harold looked up into John's grey eyes, completely complacent, completely submissive.

'Yes sir.'

John opened the heavy door, his chest bare and his legs clad in a pair of soft denim jeans. He stood just inside the door and looked over his left shoulder to the man crouched next to the door. A small smile pulled at John's lips then the dominance took over again. Harold was knelt on the floor in nothing but silk boxers, his legs were apart and his hands on his knees. His head was bowed and he was silent. John looked back at the room and sauntered over to the hard wood chest, he opened the top draw. Inside, laid out on black velvet were an array of toys and implements. The top draw was full of clamps: various sizes, pressures and colours. The next draw down, a range of plugs and dildos and the bottom draw was full of straps and cuffs, all laid out neatly. John's eyes wondered over them, marvelling in their magnificence. He cast a glance backwards at Harold, still knelt by the door, he hadn't moved an inch. He kept his back to Harold as he ran his fingers up and down the plug, over the curves and dimples.

'Up.' Harold stood up immediately, his shoulders relaxed and his arms by his side.

'Lay on the bed, hands behind your head.' John watched as Harold climbed onto the bed and put his hands behind his head. 'Close your eyes and don't make a sound till I say, you are not to move your hands, is that understood?'

'Yes sir.' Said Harold quietly. He shut his eyes and relaxed onto the bed, absorbing the atmosphere of the room.

John smiled, he leaned over Harold and caressed torso, running his hand over Harold's slight stomach and matted chest hair, tweaking his nipples as he went. He felt Harold shudder underneath him, but he made no sound. John moved around the bed to Harold's legs, he picked up his good leg and started gently kneading Harold's calve, he kissed the instep of Harold's foot. A small _'mhph' _escaped through Harold's closed lips. John stopped immediately and lowered his leg back onto the bed. He stood up and walked around Harold, feet tapping on the floor with each slow step.

'You promised me you wouldn't make a sound.' John sat on the bed near Harold's head, he ran his gnarled fingers along Harold's hair line. 'What do you have to say for yourself?'

Harold's chest rose and fell steadily. 'I'm sorry sir. I don't know what came over me.'

John leaned in quickly and laid a trail of kisses up Harold's neck and jaw. 'I do.' He whispered in-between kisses, his voice low and husky. 'You're so incredibly turned on right now and you are completely powerless to do anything.' Harold moaned and writhed beneath him. 'You will do anything to please me.' John pecked the corner of Harold's lips and took a loud deep sniff, smelling the musky, sandalwood smell that was purely Harold. 'Absolutely anything.' John pulled back sharply leaving Harold without his touch. Harold moaned in frustration and writhed some more. John watched him, eyes gleaming like a predator. 'Remember our agreement Harold.'

Harold calmed and relaxed again. John walked around the bed admiring the man before him: shy, retiring, recluse and… beautiful. Harold had a slight stomach and a smattering of greying chest hair. In John's eyes, the dark pink scars only added his mystery. To John, Harold was beautiful, he was more than perfect. As frustrated as Harold was, John knew he was aroused, an obvious tent in his silk boxers told him so. Harold was calm again, his eyes still shut and lips pressed together. John stepped close again and ran his large hand up and down Harold's aching cock. Harold pushed his hips up off the bed, as much as he hip and leg would allow, into John's hand. The silk between his hot flesh and John's hand created a gorgeous friction and soon Harold found himself fucking John's hand. He tried to stop the sounds escaping from his throat but he couldn't.

'Ah.'

John withdrew his hand again.

'Oh Harold, what did we say?'

Harold moaned in frustration and pushed his head back into the bed. This was torture at its finest, but he found it so incredibly hot. John walked over to the chest and took out a medium size plug and a small bottle of lube. He walked over to the bed and knelt down in between Harold's legs. John leaned forward and ran his tongue along the waistband of Harold's boxers. Harold breathed out through his lips, whistling a little. John bit the waistband and pulled them down over Harold's cock and down his leg. This was so precious: it allowed Harold a freedom he hadn't felt in so many years, a feeling of complete trust, it also allowed John to worship Harold, worship him like the God he was. John took the silk boxers in his hand and put them to his nose and took a long, loud sniff. He let the smell linger in his nostrils, that smell was completely Harold: dark, musky and wholly arousing. John then threw them across the room. He looked down at the naked man before him. He leaned in again and placed a trail of butterfly kisses up and down the inside of Harold's thighs, right the way to the apex of his thigh, inches from his aching member. John drizzled some of the lube into his fingers and gently rubbed Harold's hole, feeling it pucker. Since the day Harold had saved him and shown him this room, he'd always wanted – dreamed of, even – doing this to Harold, the honour and the pleasure. He gently eased a finger inside, feeling Harold tease momentarily then relax, he carefully eased it in and out feeling Harold relax around him. He added another finger. John kissed the crown of Harold's leaking cock.

'I want to hear you.'

John added a third finger and was rewarded with a low, throaty groan. He smiled against Harold's thigh – he now saw why Harold did this. He eased them in and out, rubbing Harold's prostate and pulling more gasps, groans and wanton moans from the man below him.

'You want more?'

Harold gasps, truly and wonderfully exasperated. 'God yes, please yes.'

John withdrew his fingers sharply. 'Yes what?'

'Sir. Oh God please John, please sir.'

John eased another finger in, he reached beside him and coated the plug with lube and drew his long fingers from Harold. Harold whimpered at the loss. John held the plug to Harold's entrance and slowly pushed it in. Harold's moaned filled the room, the eased at which it entered, the fullness it gave and the slight pressure it gave was so fulfilling. John reached up and slowly pumped Harold's cock. The combined stimulation brought Harold to the edge quickly. He laid under John, writhing, panting, hands clenching under his head. He was close. It was enough, but not enough at the same time. John looked up at Harold's face, eyes focused on his lips. They quivered and moved as Harold mouthed words.

'Please John, oh please, I'm so close, so close…'

John stopped pumping Harold's cock and pulled the plug out. Harold moaned in frustration. John shed his jeans and knelt in between Harold's, he rubbed his hole and perineum with his palm, Harold moaned again. John laced his cock with lube and knelt up slightly.

'Give me hands, open your eyes.'

Harold opened his eyes and looked at John, above him, eyes adjusting to the light. He held out his hands and John took them, he held them in his. Harold looked up into John's eyes. The sight that greeted him took his breath away: sincere, honest and truly beautiful.

'I love you Harold.' John pushed into Harold slowly and completely. The dominance gone, love in its place.

'Oh John, I love you so much more, please.' He whispered.

John led Harold's hands as he slowly thrust in and out, they never broke eye contact. John noticed the small change in Harold's face expression as he thrust to the hilt – like a flame dancing in the dark, it was a wonder to see. John's hips sped up as Harold tightened around him, John brought his right and Harold's left hand down and they stroked Harold's cock. Harold tensed as he came, pulling a powerful orgasm from John. John fell next to Harold, their hands still entwined. They panted and looked at each other, John laughed.

'That was definitely something.' He said.

Harold rubbed his thumb over John's hand: his voice was so quiet. 'Yes it was.'

A sharp beeping from outside the room brought both men out of their dream like ravine. Harold bolted up and squinted towards the door.

'What is it Harold?' John asked, not hiding his concern.

'Where are my glasses?' Harold felt around for them. John stood up and walked over to the heavy chest of drawers where Harold's glasses sat, he handed them to his partner and pulled on the soft jeans, commando style. Harold limped over to the wall on the far side and slid a panel across, John looked at him, puzzled.

'You have a wardrobe in here?'

'Yes.' He said shortly, he pulled on a t-shirt and some linen trousers. He heard John load his gun behind him. 'You won't need it.'

John stood behind Harold and took his hand, he lifted it up to his lips, his kissed his knuckles. 'What made that beeping sound?'

'Let me show you.'

Harold pulled the heavy door open and walked out into the corridor with John close behind him. They walked down the corridor, Harold pushed open a small door. Inside the room was no bigger than a cupboard. It housed only a desk, a chair and a computer with a five monitors and a server block in the back corner with hundreds of drivers and cables running out of it. One of the monitor screens blinked at them. Harold entered the small room and sat at a chair, he tapped the keyboard methodically and the whole computer system whirred into life, he turned to John his eyes wide.

'It worked.'

**That's an awfully big spanner I've thrown in the works isn't it?**


	14. On Thin Ice

**Right, this is the belated spanner. Sorry for the delay, words weren't coming. The Machine idea at the end was completely spontaneous (hence why this has taken so long) but I wanted to bring it back to a significant Person of Interest keystone, ie, the Machine. **

**Soundtrack: Dragster Wave – Ghinzu (Yes, the credits song from Taken with Liam Neeson) **

'I built a system, a machine that spies on people every hour of every day. It filters through CCTV, emails, phone calls, instant messages, public and private records, everything. I designed the machine to detect acts against the State and find offenders, but then I ceased my dose, I reprogrammed it so it sees everything. Violent crimes involving ordinary people. I get numbers of those either in danger or those committing it.' Harold paused and lowered his head, ashamed. 'And right now, those crimes are still happening because I haven't been able to stop them.' He paused again and raised his head to look at John, eyes wet with unshed tears. 'I haven't been able to do anything because I am not talented enough, I needed someone with the skills to intervene…'

'Someone like me.' John said solemnly.

'I'm so sorry John.'

'Was any of it real?' John asked after a moment.

A single tear fell down Harold's cheek. 'My feelings are John.'

'You only wanted me for this, to save people. To save the people who murdered hundreds.'

'At first, yes.' Harold admitted. 'But then I fell for you. You're smart, witty, extremely clever and immensely talented. You are a much better person than I ever will be.' Harold paused and watched John process the information. 'I fell in love with you John, truly, madly, deeply.'

John turned to leave, Harold took a step forward and John raised his gun, stopping Harold dead in his tracks. John backed away then left. Harold stood in the middle of the room, he head the distant slam of the front door. The air grew cold in the room, the colour drained from the walls. Harold fell to his knees and let the tears fall down his cheeks. He fell forward, his forehand and hands flat on the floor. He cried. Full heart wrenching sobs that shook him to the core. He'd been selfish and he'd just lost the thing he valued most. The Machine had the power to change the world, but maybe it wasn't ready. The world was changing at an astonishing rate, every day it had something new, but none of that mattered to Harold without John.

John hid in the smouldering remains of one of the factories. He was crouched inside a small cupboard: his elbows on his knees, his wrists around his bowed head. He fought back the searing tears of hurt, anger and betrayal, Harold had given him a new life, but he only wanted him for his own selfish needs. His fists clenched and hit the ground below, his figure was rigid. He hit the ground again and again until his strength dissipated. He fell forward in a foetal position, defeated. For the first time in years, John had felt safe and even loved. But like everything else, it was too good to be true. Harold only wanted John's skills to save people. But John didn't think anyone needed saving, they were all bad people. He felt a small hand rub his back then a figure kneel beside him. He tensed.

'John. You need to hide, out in the open isn't safe.'

John jumped into a crouching position, he was eye level with the figure.

'Zoe?' he asked in disbelief.

'Hello John.' She smiled coolly and held out her head. John closed her fingers and kissed her knuckles. A bullet missed them by a few inches. They ducked, John put a protective arm around Zoe and drew his gun and pointed it in the direction of the bullet. Zoe stuck her head up. 'We need to go. Now!'

John grabbed Zoe's hand and stood them up, they ran to the dirty backstreets. Zoe was the height of sophistication. Heels, a grey curve hugging dress and a kneel length coat that she always wore open. Her hair flowed in waves down just below her shoulders. She was beautiful, she was smart, she was dangerous. A fixer by trade she made people disappear, but she wasn't a killer. Employed by the Government of the State, she worked in secret taking troublesome people out of the limelight forever, no one ever knew what happened to them. But her and John went back years.

They stopped just below a street light, John roughly pushed Zoe against the wall and kissed her. He pulled back and touched her elegant cheek bone with his fingers.

'Long time no see.'

'We have to be careful. I know about you and Harold.'

John's brow furrowed and he punched the wall beside her face. A small scream escaped Zoe's throat. He took a few large strides down the alley away from her then stopped. He calmed.

'How much do you know?'

Zoe straightened her coat and sauntered after him. 'Not much this time, but I know what Harold is like.'

'And how would you know?'

'It's my job to know people.'

'Zoe.'

'I knew his previous slave. Nathan Ingram. He asked me to make Harold disappear.' John looked at Zoe. 'But I didn't. Nathan died before I had all the information I needed.'

'How did he die?'

'Harold shot him.'

Zoe strode past John and walked out the alley. John hesitated then jogged after her.

Harold's eyes widened as he watched the scene play out before him. The rough kiss, the heated conversation afterwards. He typed quickly, eyes flicking between the screen and keyboard. He activated the lip reading software.

'_Harold shot him.'_

Harold froze. No one knew what had happened. Nathan's killer had never been found, and never would be. Harold blinked and typed again. The mysterious Zoe Morgan: a fixer. She was the daughter of a State Official who was on tried for corruption. She was smart, street wise and had her own formidable power. A small movement on the screen caught his attention, he frowned at the screen through his glasses. A figure stood where John had kissed Zoe, they touched the wall and took out a gun and pulled back the catch. Harold jolted himself up from the desk and limped out the room.

Zoe pushed the door to her apartment open and walked in. It was sparsely furnished as all State apartments were. The front door opened into a large, double height living space with an open plan kitchen off to the right and a corridor leading to the master bedroom and a bathroom. Zoe shrugged off her coat and threw it over the back of the sofa. John stood just inside the door and looked around. Zoe thumbed off her heels and looked over at John.

'Make yourself at home, nothing's changed.' She walked over to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. She took a sip. 'Oh loosen up John. Enjoy the new world.' She sounded irritated and almost sarcastic.

John walked over to the kitchen and stood on the opposite side to Zoe. He placed his large hands on the concrete work top, his grey eyes digging into Zoe's brown orbs.

'How did you know where to find me?'

Zoe set her glass down and looked away from John's piercing eyes. She hesitated before meeting it again, her eyes honestly open.

'I still care John.' She paused. 'People like us have to tread carefully, now more than ever.'

'People like us…' John sneered.

'Yes John, people like us who have dirty hands. The new society will come after us and when they do, they won't go lightly.'

'Why are you telling me this?'

Zoe raised her voice. 'To keep you safe.'

John stalked around the kitchen island, he grabbed Zoe's wrists and held her hands above her head. His face was so close to hers, he could feel his warm breath on her.

'I don't need protecting.'

Zoe's glass smashed. They looked down at the watery glassy mess on the counter. Another bullet whispered closer to them and buried itself in the wall behind Zoe. John ducked them behind the counter as bullets hailed over their heads.

'Snipers.' Announced John.

'What about now John? Huh?'

John took the gun out of the back of his pants and turned on his heel, he returned shots using the counter as cover.

'We have to go.'

John edged towards the front door with Zoe close behind him. The sniper rounds silenced for a moment. John grabbed Zoe's hand and ran. The corridors outside her apartment were long and twisty. John pulled Zoe along, yanking her arm when she slowed too much.

'What are you looking for?'

'A way out.'

John pushed an exit door open and peered inside. He pulled Zoe inside and slowly, methodically, made his way down the stairs. At the bottom, John hauled the door open and stumbled out into the cold night air. He leaned on his knees and breathed deeply. Zoe stood behind him, looking a little shaken. John spun around sharply and pointed his gun into the darkness. A small figure walked out of the shadows, the uneven _click click _of expensive shoes on the cobbles. Frightened eyes framed in black glasses bore into John's.

'Please put it down John.' He begged.

John squeezed the grip harder as he fought to remain in control of his anger. 'Why?' It was laced with danger.

'Because… I… John…' Harold stuttered. John pulled the catch back. 'I don't know.' Harold whispered defeated.

John lowered his gun. He was a dangerous mix of anger and hurt. 'I am not helping you. The people in danger are those with blood on their hands. The officials, the politicians, the real murderers. They deserve it.'

'It's Miss Morgan John.'

John looked from Harold to Zoe and back to Harold.

'What?'

A sniper round whistled through the air again. Zoe convulsed and fell to the ground. John rushed to her side and looked at the wound in her stomach. Another round landed near her head, John instantly ducked away. He looked up at Harold and held out his gun.

'Cover us.'

Harold took the gun as John picked Zoe up. John carried Zoe into the darkness and Harold followed closely behind.


	15. Fixing the Broken

**Some of the facts are a little off (I don't know why I'm saying this now, the facts have been a little sketchy from the beginning but hey ho! Enjoy!**

Harold pushed open the safe-like door and flicked on the lights. The room was large and dark and had a faint smell of dampness and stale air. In the room where two camp beds and a few small crates that acted as counters, a small camping stove sat in the far corner. John pushed past Harold and laid Zoe on one of the beds. Harold ran across the bunker and pulled out a holdall containing an array of first aid items. He laid it next to John who was knelt on the floor, he took out the scissors and cut Zoe's dress from her hip to the bottom of her rib cage. Harold leaned over to hold her dress open, John grabbed his hand and squeezed it painfully, Harold gasped and John released his hand.

'This is your fault.'

'She injured John and it's bad, let me help.'

'I am not helping you save people.'

'Zoe needs your help now John.'

John considered then let Harold help. Harold held her dress open as John cleaned the wound with wipes. Zoe whimpered and her hands reached out for John's arms, his hands caught hers and he looked her in the eye.

'John…'

'You're gonna be ok Zoe. We're gonna get through this.' He reassured her, pain evident on his face.

'It hurts.' She coughed.

Harold leaned over and pulled a small metal box out from under one of the camp. He opened it and scanned through the various items inside. He took out a small syringe and held up to the light, needle pointing up. He tapped it gently.

'What is that?' John asked sceptically.

'Fentanyl. For the pain, it will also render you unconscious Zoe.'

She looked up at Harold, tears rimming her eyes. She nodded.

'Is it safe?' asked John.

'I use on a daily basis Mr Reese, it's perfectly safe.'

John watched as Harold pressed the needle against Zoe's upper arm and thumbed the plunger down. John watched Zoe as she relaxed and succumbed to the unconsciousness. Harold handed John some rubber gloves and he put them on. Both men worked in silence as they cleaned and extracted the sniper round and stitched her up. Harold watched with an infatic stare as John's fingers delicately danced over Zoe's tanned skin, as light as butterfly touches, quick but not rushed. There was a methodical rhythm to his ministrations, he'd seen that rhythm so many times, it was John. His rhythm, whether he was fighting, cleaning, cooking his rhythm was the same. Harold looked over the top of his glasses at John. The man that had become his everything. John finished the stitches and laid the curved needle down.

'There. Done.' His gaze met Harold's. 'Anywhere to wash my hands?'

'There a small washroom behind that curtain there.'

Harold pointed towards a khaki coloured curtain on the back wall. John stood up and walked over to it. Harold looked down at the sleeping figure of Zoe Morgan. She was beautiful: poised cheek bones, deep eyes, flowing hair and a figure to die for.

John watched Harold from behind the curtain, he delicately reached out and brushed some strands of hair out of her face. John thought about Harold's recent revelation. A Machine that sees everything and gives numbers of people that were in danger and today, the person in danger was Zoe Morgan. He stepped out and continued to dry his hands.

'Who wants her dead?'

Harold jumped and looked up at John. 'I don't know.' He paused and looked back at Miss Morgan. 'I saw you two together in the alley, someone was following you so I left to come and help. I knew that if I tried to contact you any other way you wouldn't have listened and I could… I could have lost you.'

'I am not yours to lose.'

That hurt. Harold closed his eyes and blinked back the rising tears. He pushed himself up off the ground and wobbled a little. He walked over to the bunker door. He put his hand on the handle and stopped, his bowed his head.

'You'll be safe here. If you need anything, call me.'

Harold pushed the handle door and pulled the heavy door open. He left and John did nothing to stop him. The heavy door closed with a metallic clang against its frame, he dead bolts slid into place. John clenched the tea towel he'd been using to dry his hands and threw it on the floor.

'Don't push him away John.'

John rushed over to Zoe and knelt beside her; he cupped her cheek and pained a smile.

'Hey, you should be resting.'

'John, listen to me. He cares for you.' Zoe said weakly.

'He only wanted me to save people, I'm a killer, I'm good at killing people.'

'John please listen.' She took his hand and absently rubbed circled with her thumb. 'Harold cares about you so much, you're breaking his heart.'

'He used me, pretended to care to gain my trust.'

'It was the only way…'

Harold leaned back in his chair and rubbed the aching muscles in his hip and neck. On his screen was a live feed from the bunker. John's last words still squeezed like a fist around his heart. _I am not yours to lose. _He fought back the tears again. No this wasn't happening. Harold turned his attention to the figure in the alley. He had taken a still from the footage and was running various programs he'd written on it to decipher the height, sex and any other significant features of the person of interest. The computer beeped. The figure was of slim build, roughly 5"6 and slightly curved around the hips and chest. Female. Harold set up a State-wide search for the figure. An area in the east of the State was brought up on screen. An apartment formerly belonging to Kara Stanton, the State executions Governor. Harold frowned, Kara Stanton had been silent for years. She disappeared off the map years ago, but no one asked any questions. Harold dug further into the State records: the searches, the forensics of the apartment and Stanton's last known whereabouts. Harold uncovered her slave, one Samantha Groves. Still alive but off the grid, Harold ran the figures statistics against Samantha Groves. The computer gave an 89% match. He gasped and jumped up from his desk, he reached for the door then paused. He entered a phone number into the computer, a dial tone sounded but no one picked up.

'Hi John, it's me. I want you to know that I'm sorry, for everything. My feelings are still real John, I love you. I always will. But you have Miss Morgan now, you make a good couple. Treat her well. I know who is after Miss Morgan… so I guess this is good bye. Thank you John, you've been good to me and I'm sorry I wasn't to you.'

Harold ended the call and walked out the room. He walked into his bedroom and sighed, he pulled the knot on his tie and shrugged off his jacket. He slid the wardrobe door open and flicked through the many many items of clothing. He took out a plain black shirt, a pair of black trousers and a jacket. He put them on and slipped on a pair black pumps, he stood in front of the mirror and patted down his jacket and trousers. He thought of John, alone in the bunker with Zoe. They were perfect, they really did suit each other well: both classy and witty, smart and brave and completely lovable.

'Goodbye John.' He whispered.

Harold walked the dark streets to the Governors apartment block, he slipped his card into the door and it opened gracefully. He slipped inside and made his way to the elevators. He called one and stepped inside. The apartment was empty and cold. Harold stood inside the doorway and looked around. He took a few tentative steps into the apartment, disturbing the dust layer. He stood in the middle of the empty room and looked around. No one had been here in years. A gun clicked behind his head, Harold froze.

'Harold Finch.'

'Samantha Groves.'

She laughed chillingly, 'Now that's not my name.' She walked around Harold and looked him in the eye, her gun level with his nose. 'You can call me Root. Hands up.' She snapped.

Harold held his hands up and looked down at the ground, the fight simply wasn't in him. Root walked back around him and tied his hands behind his back, he yelped as his neck jolted.

'Oh sorry Harold, I don't want to hurt you.'

'I wouldn't care if you did.' He muttered.

Root walked Harold into one of the smaller rooms down the corridor. He stood in the doorway, a hard chunk of metal hit the back of his head. He fell to the ground unconscious.

Zoe was sound asleep, resting peacefully. John sat on the other camp bed and watched her, flicking his pocket knife open in his hand. His brow furrowed as memories of him and Zoe resurfaced:

It was bitterly cold. John pulled his coat and blanket tighter around him, he knew his efforts were futile but he had to try. Another icy chill whistled past him. He shivered and tucked his head in to warm up his lips and nose. He was living, homeless, under a flyover into the city. This was a hot spot for the homeless, the flyover kept them dry but nowhere kept them out the biting wind. A lady a few years his senior sat next to him, she too was frozen.

'It'll warm up soon.'

John lifted his head up and chuckled. 'I bloody hope so.'

'Soup will be here soon.'

John laughed again. 'Thank you Joan, for looking after me.'

'No problem, we're all in this together.'

John held up his arm and blanket for Joan and she shuffled closer. She smiled and leaned into John's shoulder. He felt slightly warmer with Joan at his side. A van horn beeped and the other homeless folk around rushed to the van. John looked sideways at Joan and smiled. He stood up and held out his hand for Joan. He helped her up and put his blanket around her again and together they walked over to the van. John stood before the van and held out a frozen hand. The lady in the van passed down a cup of leak and potato soup quickly followed by another. John, like the gentleman he is, passed the first cup to Joan.

'There we go, enjoy it.' She smiled pleasantly.

John looked up at the soup vender: she was middle aged and exceptionally pretty. Her smile was matched with a smile in her eyes. Her mousy brown hair was tied in a high pony tail on her head, her make-up was elegant and sophisticated. John smiled back at her.

'Thank you.'

'Oh that's quite alright. I hope this weather goes soon.'

John laughed throatily. 'You're telling me.'

The lady laughed. Silence spread between them. 'So what's your name?'

'Names, who needs them.'

'Well I'm Zoe.'

John smiled and held out his other hand. 'John.'

'Nice to meet you John.' Zoe shook his hand.


	16. Fight or Flight

**I make no apologies this time, for once I'm not sorry :P if I did, I'd be lying. **

The sound of a door opening brought Harold out of his nightmare plagued sleep. He pushed his eyes open and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the sharp light emitting from a solitary light bulb. He panicked then calmed as his disorientated memories assembled themselves again. The room was small, damp and dingy, it made him shiver, but he leaned back against the wall. He tried to stretch his taught arms but found them bound behind his back. The cold and dusty floor made him cringe, he tried to move but found his movements restricted, he looked down and saw his ankles tied with a singular black cable tie. The more he moved his legs the more they dug painfully into his skin. He rested his head against the wall behind him and listened. A small caught his nose and he sniffed: Root. Root was cooking breakfast.

The door opened and in walked a young, slim lady with chocolate brown wavy hair and bright brown eyes. She stood in a pastel orange knitted jumper that hugged her small breasts and curves, faded denim short shorts that exposed her slim legs and bare feet that patted on the floor. Harold frowned at her, clothes like that were hard to find. But this also piped his interest, who was this mysterious woman? She stood just inside the door holding a plate in one hand and a knife and fork in the other. She took a step towards Harold, he didn't even flinch. It was only when she knelt down and rested on her toes Harold brought his gaze up to hers. They eyed each other silently. Root spoke first.

'Morning Harold.' She smirked, her voice had a light majestic quality to it. She was clever but not arrogant. 'I thought you might like some breakfast.'

Harold glanced down at the plate: it was piled high with fried bread, bacon and beans. His mouth watered at the sight of it. He glanced back at Root, she eyed him sceptically. His eyes wondered over her stunning figure, his gazed stopped over her legs, just where the frayed edges of her shorts covered the top of her thigh. He snapped his gaze up to her deep brown eyes again. Harold frowned, he couldn't work her out – a mix of fascination, fright and defeat.

'Fried bread, bacons and beans sound ok?' She moved the plate up a little.

Harold wriggled his arms but Root wasn't about to untie him. She saw he had no fight in him but she didn't want to chance it. He was rich and powerful, he was a genius. But there was something more to him, something lay hidden underneath the expensive suits, elaborate lifestyle and rich vocabulary. Root moved herself into a sitting position on the floor, crossed legged, subtly presenting herself to Harold. His eyes snapped up to hers again, he was panting out of fear, tension and slight arousal. Root was teasing him and they both knew it. Root cut up the bread and bacon on the plate into small bite size pieces, she layered the fried bread with bacon then baked beans. She brought the fork up to Harold's lips. He parted his lips slightly and fork by fork Root fed him till only one bit was left on the plate. She picked it up, Harold parted his lips again expecting it but closed his lips when Root fed it to herself; she closed her lips around the fork and moans, her eyelids fluttering shut in appreciated. A low growl voiced itself in Harold's throat.

'Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, I just want you to behave, but I'm sure you will, won't you Harry?' she smirked playfully as she set the plate aside. Harold tensed at _Harry. _It wasn't his name and it heightened his senses when she said it, he saw the spark of danger dancing in her dark eyes.

The food was delicious, but he felt ashamed. He was the richest and most powerful man in the State and here he sat, unable to move and being spoon fed like a young child. Root knelt forward again, resting on her toes, she took a napkin out of her pocket and dapped his mouth clean. He started to breath heavily again, he didn't like her this close to him. Root saw the way he looked at her, like he was trying to figure her out, a calculation that he wouldn't solve. She was close enough for him to smell and she smelt wonderful: rose, jasmine, amber, vanilla, peach, sandalwood and an underlying hint of musk. Root balanced herself by laying a hand on Harold's thigh, his breath hitched his throat. Her hand was just inches from his crotch. She felt his sharp intake of breath; she knew the effect she was having on him and she was revelling in it, like a Goddess in melted chocolate. She leaned down and kissed him, her fingertips traced his jawline – his usually clean shaven face now rough with greying stubble. Harold was frozen beneath her, not even breathing. She hovered above him, jumper hugging her luscious curves and shorts exposing her legs. The hand on his thigh rubbed gently and insistently. Harold felt himself react to the physical stimulation and he hated himself for it, it made him see so wanton, so dirty. He didn't want to kiss her back, he shut his eyes tight and tried to imagine something else, anything else. John popped into his mind's eye and his lips partly slightly. His heart was pounding in his chest, it was so loud in the silent room. He felt her tongue against his. He mentally kicked himself. Root pulled back leaving him panting, she reached for the knife on the plate and leaned in close again to Harold. Their faces were millimetres apart. Harold's eyes frantically scanned her eyes – his mind was a wash of emotions. He felt the cable tie around his wrists to limp. He moved his stiff arms around and laid them to rest in his lap. Root picked them up and rubbed them, easing the redness and throbbing pain. She left his ankles tied, making his arousal more visible. He was ashamed and embarrassed, but a small part of him didn't want it to stop. Root stood up quickly, the majestic trance broken.

'I'm not John Harold. Don't kid yourself.'

She picked up the empty plate and cutlery off the floor.

'Why are you doing this?' Harold asked, his throat hoarse.

Root paused at the door. After a moment's hesitation, she looked at him. 'Because I know what means the most to you.'

She left the room and locked the door again. Harold bowed his head and panted, he was angry at himself. He got himself into this mess. He pulled at the cable tie around his ankles but to no avail. He leaned back against the wall and looked up at the light bulb. He closed his eyes and gave in, he pulled at his belt buckle and zipper and freed himself from the confines of his pants.

'Forgive me John.' He whispered.

John woke with a start. He looked around frantically as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the bunker. He scanned the room, basic military furnishing all standard except the beautiful figure of one Zoe Morgan, sat up on the small camp bed cradling a cup of tea in her hands, she looked at John.

'Do you always sleep like that?'

John looked around and found himself sat in the corner between the two walls. His knees were up under his chin. He stretched his legs and twisted slightly stretching his back. He pushed himself up off the floor and sat on the other camp bed opposite Zoe, his brow still frowned.

'Umm, yeah. I don't like beds. How are you feeling?'

Zoe smiled. 'A little painful but I'm sure I'll survive. Can I get you a drink?'

'Umm no thanks.'

'You ok John?' Zoe leaned in, grimacing slightly as her wound protested at the movement.

John looked at a metal grate on the floor. 'Harold.' He said quietly. 'I heard him, he said forgive me.'

'Do you know where he is?'

John's sharp grey eyes snapped up to meet Zoe's. 'I don't care.'

'Yes you do.' Zoe took his large hands in hers, she looked at them as she spoke, never blinking. 'I watched you sleep. I must have tried to turn over in my sleep and agitated the wound, I couldn't sleep any longer. I looked over at the bed but it was empty, then I heard you whispering Harold's name. It was urgent. You need him John and he needs you. We're here because someone is after me, and Harold may have the answer. Don't let your selfishness cost him his life.'

John clenched his hands into fists, then moved his hand up to Zoe's cheek. His fingers grazed her cheek bone.

'I'll do this, but only because it's you.'

John leaned in and kissed her, Zoe didn't move her lips. John pulled back and stood up. He slipped on his shoes and made his way to the bunker door. Zoe watched him.

'Whether you like it or not, part of you fell for Harold, you now have two choices, accept it or let it consume you, I know what I'd do.'

John stopped and turned his head over his shoulder. 'Zoe, did I ever thank you? For everything you did for me?' He sounded so vulnerable.

Zoe smiled widely. 'Yes. Yes you did.'

John turned his head back towards the door and pulled down the large lever like handles releasing the dead bolts.

**Haha! Mind fudge!**


	17. Coma

**This is near the end now, properly this time. In this chapter I will be extending my artistic licence by a few miles. Bullet wounds are nasty and take a long time to heal but if I gave the actual healing time we'd been here for ages and you'd all get bored, so gloss over that reality fact and enjoy! It's only fanfiction at the end of the day. Thank you to all those who have read this, it means a lot to me. This is my longest fanfiction ever – I normally write one offs or shorts but this is the longest yet and I have thoroughly enjoyed it. Much love X **

**P.S Sorry this has taken so long, so much has happed recently I don't know which way is up anymore! **

**Soundtrack: Takida – To Have and To Hold**

The penthouse lay empty and dark, the early morning light only just beginning to seep through the large windows. All the lights were off and there was a chill in the air, a few soft furnishings were misplaced, a tell-tale sign of the occupants having left in a hurry. Harold wasn't here. John stepped forward and let out the breath he'd been holding. _Don't let your selfishness cost him his life. _He hadn't expected to return here so soon, it was a bittersweet reunion. His gaze wondered to the kitchen: on the first day he reached up over Harold to get a glass for him shortly before finding out he was a sense offender, he chuckled at the memory. He looked over at the leather sofas: Joss looked to peaceful when she slept, the memories of Joss flooded back and ached the barely healed wound in his heart – he hadn't yet grieved for her, he blinked back the tears. Finally, he looked at the door to Harold's bedroom: the balcony with the beautiful view of their dystopian world where Harold had snapped his cane and released his Master's hold on John. He smiled, the room in which he'd spent so little now had so many memories, some bad but mostly good. John strode to the corridor leading deeper into the penthouse. The large mahogany door caught his eye but he walked straight past it, he arrived at the small cupboard and tentatively pushed the door open.

He heard the low hum of the computers, the room was bathed in a black light from the screens. John sat in Harold's chair and wiggled the mouse, the screen lit up: a map of an apartment building on the east side of the State. He scanned the image before him – a Government Officials Apartment Block. The apartment belonged to Kara Stanton, the late Kara Stanton. John knew her but he hadn't heard the name in a long time. There was a GPS signal coming from the apartment, John clicked on it, it belonged to a Samantha Groves, Stanton's slave. John supressed the surge of anger inside him. He stood up and walked out the room, he went into Harold's bedroom and pulled out the box from the wardrobe. He loaded the gun and placed it in the back of his trousers. He took out his phone and put it to his ear, he walked towards the front door and froze.

'_Hi John, it's me. I want you to know that I'm sorry, for everything. My feelings are still real John, I love you. I always will. But you have Miss Morgan now, you make a good couple. Treat her well. I know who is after Miss Morgan… so I guess this is good bye. Thank you John, you've been good to me and I'm sorry I wasn't to you.' _

An ice cold fist closed around his heart. Harold had put himself in danger to save Miss Morgan. _You make a good couple. _Harold wanted him to be happy, and with no Harold there would be no numbers, he'd be free to live the life he wants. John breathed down his rising anger – deep down he cared and cared deeply for Harold.

Harold lay on his side, his arm pillowed underneath him. The door opened and Harold woke. The searing hot pain in his neck and back was instantaneous. He shut his eyes tight willing back the tears. Root walked into the room and knelt in front of Harold dressed in the same jumper and shorts as before. Harold opened his eyes and looked at her, mouth set in a firm line.

'Morning Harry.' She smirked. 'Did you enjoy yourself earlier?'

Harold pushed himself up into a sitting position, eyes burning into Root. She was balanced – gracefully – on the balls of her feet, sitting on her kneels with her legs parted slightly. Harold kept his gaze up, he wasn't falling for that again. Not again. Root extended an arm to look at her watch on her tiny feminine wrists.

'It's nearly one Harry. In the morning we'll take a trip, far away from here.' She looked into his eyes, a defensive vulnerable look glassing over her eyes. 'Far away from the things that cause us harm.'

'What did Miss Morgan do to you?' Harold asked, he didn't care, he just wanted to know.

'Tell you what, if you answer mine I'll answer yours.' Harold looked at her, eyes not giving a thing away. 'Where are they Harry?'

'Who?' he asked quietly.

'Miss Morgan's unfortunate clients. Where are they?'

'I don't know.'

Root lashed out sharply and accurately, her palm meeting Harold's cheek with a loud slap. Harold was shocked, he hadn't been hit like that in a long time. His frightened eyes looked at into Root's eyes, which were fired up with a short anger. He watched her calm again. She forced a smile.

'Over the last few decades, some incredibly high profiles figures have disappeared. Gone. Completely vanished without a trace. How would someone be able to do that? Money? Resources? Knowledge? They'd need all of it and only a select few ever had that kind of power. Miss Morgan was one of those select few: you know as well as I do what she does Harry. I know why, I know how, God I even know who but I don't know where. I want to know where they are.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.' his voice still deathly quiet.

'The people who disappeared – businessmen, politicians, influencers, corrupt officials. There are no death records for any of them Harold, which suggests they are still alive somewhere. I want to know where.'

Harold leaned closer, inches from her face. He spoke with a level and slow voice. 'I don't know what you're talking about. They are dead. You're on a wild goose chase Samantha, quit while you're ahead.'

'My name is Root. Where are they?'

Harold cast his gaze away from her and leaned back against the wall. He was done talking. Root's lips formed a thin line. She stood up and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Harold sighed heavily. The look that passed through her eyes: it was hidden deep within her and it hurt. She felt. She always had. Outside the room, Root leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Harold had seen her weakness. In her desperation to find Kara, she'd let her unrequited feelings show. Human nature. She thumped the wall with her fist, damn human nature, damn bad code.

John held his gun in his hand, he was coiled and ready to pounce, like an viper in a trap. He pressed himself into the foyer wall. The whole building was abandoned years ago but it had been overrun and abused by sense offenders for years. The walls were covered in rebel slogans, the floors were a mess with boxes, broken weapons and furniture. John peered into the large foyer and scanned the room for any dangers. He lowered his gun and tapped his earpiece.

'Zoe. Kara Stanton, what do you know?'

There was a long radio silence pause. _'Stanton was one of my…subjects. She started to kill for no reason, shoot offenders without trail, to kill for fun. She disappeared. She had a slave – Samantha Groves. I don't know what happened to Groves after Stanton disappeared. Why?'_

'Groves is the one who shot you. I went back to the penthouse, Harold left GPS co-ordinates to Stanton's residence. Does Groves know it was you?'

'_She may well do in which case you'll need me, Harold knows what I did but nothing else. Groves was nasty, if she believes Harold knows anything he won't have long John.'_

John tapped his ear piece again. He walked over to elevators and pressed the call button. A ping echoed through the empty room.

Root stood before a large mirror that was leaning against a wall in the bedroom. She had changed from her shorts and knitted jumper to tight black jeans that hugged her legs and kneel high heeled boots partnered with a sassy leather jacket which hid a tight, plain black top that hugged her small breasts and flat stomach. A mechanical beep caught her attention. Her brow furrowed slightly as she looked up and finished zipping up her boot. She walked into a small office and sat at a computer in the empty apartment, the computer beeped again, she wiggled the mouse bringing up a live feed from the elevator. She frowned, it was empty. Root stood up from the desk and picked up a gun off the desk. The moonlight highlighted her body and hair beautifully. She pulled the catch back on the gun and smiled at the delightful metallic clunk is made. A door opened in the main area of the apartment. She stood just inside the doorway of the office, hidden by the darkness. She watched as John entered the room and compassed it, just like he was trained to. She focused on his eyes as they scanned the room: the walls, the ceiling, the floor. She also eyed his gun in his hands, her grip tightened on hers. John knelt down on the floor and touched a mark on the floor, his eyes snapped up and scanned the room again. The marks on the floor led into a small room. John stood tall again and followed the tracks: Root stepped into the moonlit room and followed John silently.

The tracks in the dust lead to a door; John reached out with a gloved hand and tried to turn the door knob. He knelt down and ghosted his fingers over a clear shoeprint – a shoeprint he knew was Harold's. Root stood behind him and drew her gun, the silencer extending the barrel. John paused. He jumped up and spun around, taking Root by surprise. He drew his gun and aimed it as her. She didn't even flinch. They stood opposite each other, both solid and steady and eyeing each other carefully with their guns at arm's length. Silence spread itself between them.

'You must be Samantha.' Said John.

'You can call me Root, Mr Reese, that's what you liked to be called isn't it?' John squeezed the handle of his gun then relaxed again. He didn't talk about his past. Root lowered her gun slightly and shrugged. 'I'm not giving him back, not till I get what I want.'

'He doesn't know anything.'

'A great number of people, good people, disappeared. I want to know where they are.'

'And you think Harold knows?'

'Harold Finch is the most powerful man in the State, what he doesn't know isn't worth knowing. He knows.'

'He doesn't. But I know someone who does.'

'I'll get the information I need out of him one way or another. I don't like killing people John, but sometimes it needs to be done.'

'If you harm him in any way…' he threated.

'I don't need to.' John's eyesbrows quirked up. 'You've already done the damage.'

'Let me see him.'

'Give me Miss Morgan.'

'I will get her, you will bring Harold and we will all go.'

'Deal.' Root smiled and pushed past John. He slipped his into the back of his pants. Root opened the door then stepped back, looking expectantly at John.

John looked at room then walked through the door. He stood in a darkened room, the door was pushed closed behind him. John's eyes scanned the room from floor to ceiling: dusty, damp, concrete floor and a single light fixture on the ceiling. His eyes came to a slumped figure in the corner.

'Harold.' John whispered.

The figure didn't move. John surged forward onto his knees as the tears began to fall from his eyes. He put his strong arms around the figure and held him for all he was worth.

'Harold. I'm so sorry.'

The figure groaned and moved.

'Oh John. You came for me.' Harold's voice was weak and quiet.

'Of course I did.'


	18. The Forgotten

**Soundtrack: The Forgotten – Green Day**

These warehouses had always given Harold the creeps. He scanned the horizon through his glasses: thirteen warehouses in total, all painted in the same dark green and showing signs of weather and age. Root paced up and down, eyes looking intently down at the grey stony floor. Harold watched her. He stood still as a statue with his hands tied in front of him. He looked down at them then traced the thin chain to Root's hand. He shivered. He looked back at the warehouses: in some of them were his vast music, book and art collections and in others he didn't know, he had always suspected something sinister though: at the height of TyRon, 500 offenders were getting executed each day but the bodies just seemed to disappear. As Harold stood below the warehouses, he had a uneasy feeling following through his veins. These warehouses had always given him the creeps.

Root's head snapped up as car rumbled lowly in the distance. She stood up straight and still as the large town car drove closer. It slowed to a stop. John climbed out of the driver's seat and opened the back door, he glared at Root as Zoe, gracefully, climbed up out of the car and turned to Root. Root's breathed heavily through her nose, her anger tangible. John and Zoe stood level with the bonnet of the car. Silence spread between the pairs as they looked at each other. Root smiled first and took a step towards Zoe. John immediately drew his gun stopping her in her tracks.

'Calm down John. I'm not going to hurt her.'

John lowered his gun and let Root walk over to Zoe. They stood level, but Zoe being the taller mistress looked down into Root's brown eyes. Root smirking into Zoe's hard eyes and straight mouth.

'What's here Miss Morgan?'

Zoe strode past Root and towards one of the warehouses. Root followed her with Harold close behind. John filed in after Harold. John looked at the back of Harold: it was weird seeing him not dressed in a suit – this, these plain blacks were far too casual and some would argue sinister for a man like Harold. Zoe unlocked the heavy lock and slid the door open. She flicked on the lights and walked into the belly of the warehouse. It was covered from wall to wall with thousands of hospital beds, each with its own unconscious patient wired into various machines all quietly gurgling and humming away. Root walked further into the room and gasped, she dropped the chain keeping Harold close to her as she slowly walked around in circles gasping and trying to comprehend the sheer size of what she saw before her. John kept his eyes and gun trained on Root. Zoe stood at the entrance looking at the floor, Harold's eyes flicked between the vast room and her face.

'These are all the people you made disappear?' he asked Zoe quietly.

She nodded then looked up. 'Before you go in, I want you to know I'm sorry.'

Harold looked puzzled then walked into the room. He walked up and down the aisles looking at all the comatose people in the beds. They all looked so similar to one another: fragile white skin and matted dirty hair, all with eyes closed and parted lips. As Harold walked further into the room he began to feel like he recognised some of the faces.

'Stanton is over here.' Called Zoe. Zoe walked into the vast room and down a few aisles, Root walked after her, John followed leaving Harold alone at the far end. Zoe turned left up one of the rows and stopped at one of the beds. She turned to Root.

'Here she is. I'll be by the door.'

Zoe strode past Root and John, her feels clicking on the floor.

'Why?' Zoe stopped and turned to face Root. 'Why her?'

'I was simply following orders, same as everyone else. You can touch her, but she'll die if any of the instruments are disturbed.'

Zoe turned on her heel again and left. John looked at Root.

'Are we even now? You got what you wanted.'

Root's voice failed her as the tears welled up in her eyes. She nodded, John nodded his reply and respectfully left her. Root looked down at Kara, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks, she smiled and ran her fingertips down her cheek.

'Hey.' She choked out.

John jogged to keep up with Zoe. Zoe looked at him and smiled.

'All done?'

'All done.'

'Thank you John.'

'We'll keep tabs on her, keep her safe.' he paused. 'Zoe, what are these people doing here?'

Zoe hesitated before answering, thinking hard about what she was going to say. She didn't look at John, she couldn't. 'It was the easiest way to manufacture large of TyRon easily, it's made up of various body chemicals and antibodies. We need live bodies to create them, these people are the farm animals, the cattle so to speak.'

'But they're not needed anymore, why are you keeping them alive?'

Zoe looked at John sadly. 'I'm not a killer John. I couldn't live with myself.'

John didn't press the subject further: he understood what Zoe meant – killing someone is one thing, living with yourself afterwards is another. Silence spread between them. They stopped at the doors and Zoe smiled, she glanced down at John's shoes as a sheepish smile spread across her face.

'What?' John asked, noticing her smirk.

Zoe lifted her head up. 'Just this. You, me, living the highlife. Who'd have thought it?'

John chuckled. It was true, time was John was homeless and Zoe was his soup vender. A far cry from where they stood now in their expensive, tailor made clothes and lavish lifestyles.

'You better go and find Harold, I'll see how Root's doing.'

John nodded as Zoe walked past him, he sent off in search of Harold. He walked the many aisles and rows of beds, his mind wondering at whom all these people were and why they needed to 'disappear'. John turned up another row and what he saw stopped him in his tracks:

Sat in a chair next to a bed was Harold, he was leaned over the person in the bed and grasping their hand, whispering to them, hushed whispers with the occasional sniff – Harold was crying. John silently stepped forward, silent as a panther. He listened carefully, it felt wrong to intrude but he had to know, just had to. As he edged closer, he saw the small female figure and splash of red hair on the white pillow. It couldn't be.

'Hello Grace. Um… I don't really know what to say. I've missed you, so much. I was wrong to walk away and for that I'm sorry. I was young and I was foolish and I should never have walked away. I am forever grateful for what we had; I honestly don't think I'd be here if it wasn't for you.

'The day I read out your name, I lost part of myself. The world was grey and… it lost its meaning. Although we hadn't spoken in years, I missed you. I wanted to talk to you but didn't know if you were ready to talk to me; I didn't want to trap you. I treated you awfully and I have been punishing myself ever since for that. My only hope now is that you can forgive me, forgive me for being foolish.

'Grace… I've found someone and… I think I love them. I haven't told him. Things were going well and I messed up again, oh Grace I've been so foolish. He'll never want me back. Ever since I met him, I've felt more human than I have in years. He connects me to the world and makes my world a better, a happier place. I don't see why he wants me, he can do so much better than a middle aged cripple.'

'But it was a middle aged cripple I fell in love with.' John wrapped his arms around Harold's shoulders and kissed his cheek.

'Oh John.' Harold's eyes fluttered shut as another tear rolled down his cheek. 'I am so sorry, I should never have shouted at you or expected you to do that. I should have asked you…'

'Shhh it's ok, I know you mean well.'

Harold stood up quickly and grabbed John's hands holding them close to this chest: they were inches apart. Harold looked at John's large hands in his.

'Will you take me back?' He looked up.

The look on Harold's face took John's breath away. Harold had taken down his rock solid barriers and bared all his emotions to John. John leaned down and pressed his lips to Harold's. His eyes fluttered closed as they melted into the kiss. They broke the moment, catching their breaths.

'Yes. Yes I will.'

Harold glanced at Grace's sleeping form on the bed, her thinner body and it's almost translucent skin, he reached over and turned her machine's off before turning himself into John's strong open arms.

'In my heart you will always stay, loved and remembered every day. Rest In Peace Grace.'

Zoe and Root watched them from afar.

'What will you do with them?' asked Root.

'I don't know. Walk away.'

'And just leave them?'

'You can't take her away, she'll die.'

'Let me look after her, all of them.'

Zoe looked at Root. 'You'd do that?'

Root nodded and smiled tightly.

A forest clearing created the stage: a small overgrown lake sat centre stage surrounded by fledgling trees and plants. It was early evening, the sky turning a beautiful mix of pinks and oranges with white colours coloured pink with the after burn from the sun. This was a private place, a secret garden. Harold and John stood shoulder to shoulder, both in black suits with white shirts and ties. A trilby sat on his head and a dark purple scarf around his neck; Grace had a matching scarf. Before them, standing in the ground, were two crosses with brass name plates on them. Both had flowers laid at their feet: one for Grace and one for Joss. They two men stood in silence and absorbed the calming sound of the wind and the distant chirp and rustle of animals. The gentle wind rustled their hair and nipped at their cheeks. The world was a different place now but what it had been haunted both men so deeply – their action haunted them so deeply but their actions were part of who they were now and the world was better for having them in it.

Harold looked at the cross and at the tiny details in which Grace's name was etched. He never really knew her, the real Grace beneath the kink and sex. He sighed, if only. She saved him from himself and gave him a way to understand the world, he'd been young and foolish but he knew better now. He'd always be thankful to Grace for saving him, but the regret of not doing enough would always be there. His gaze then moved to Joss, he hadn't known her long but he cared. Everything had happened to quickly and in his heart, he knew he failed her. Joss was right when she said it's safer to live alone, maybe she'd still be here if she had. He took off his hat and bowed his head. He closed his eyes.

_Where in the world did the time go?  
It's where your spirit seems to roam  
Like losing faith to our abandon  
Or an empty hallway from a broken home_

_Well, don't look away from the arms of a bad dream  
Don't look away, sometimes you're better lost than to be seen  
Don't look away from the arms of a moment  
Don't look away from the arms of tomorrow  
Don't look away from the arms of a moment  
Don't look away from the arms of love…_

**So this is the end. Thank you for reading and reviewing. Much Love x**


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